


Wicked Games

by anothersoutherntwink



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: ABO-ish, Chases, Eventual Smut, M/M, Marking, Mating, Mating Rituals, Mildly Dubious Consent, Scent Kink, Size Kink, Slow Burn, Top Kibana | Raihan, abo concepts but not really abo, dubcon, fang kink, forced mating but piers secretly wants it, leon shows up for the fun at one point, seriously i will probably point out how big rai is compared to piers many times
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:27:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26142586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anothersoutherntwink/pseuds/anothersoutherntwink
Summary: In which Raihan chases Piers around Galar for a week with the pretense that if Piers can elude him for that entire time, he wont get marked and mated.A/N (as of March 1): On hiatus due to depression, but working on the next two chapters. Working to post by March 20.
Relationships: Kibana | Raihan/Nezu | Piers
Comments: 34
Kudos: 221





	1. Wicked Games

**Author's Note:**

> This was a one-shot smut fic turned into a multi-chapter dubcon fanfic. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it.

_I finally decided. You’re gonna be my mate._

Piers tapped his pen against his notepad and stared out the window. A surge of spring greenery rushed past the train in a singular stroke, and while in most cases, Piers would’ve chosen to ride a corviknight taxi because it was faster, he needed a refreshing change of pace. Taking the tube gave him a chance to think, as there was no station that stopped at Spikemuth. Yet, it got him close enough to trek the rest of the way and think some more. Sometimes he’d do such a thing when experiencing writer’s block. Other times, such as in this case, he needed the fresh air.

Raihan’s words loomed above his head, ringing a husky tune that Piers couldn’t decide on whether or not he should feel flattered or frightened. He was fully aware that some trainers adopted the habits of their preferred species, if not have been born with the attributes, and he had seen dragons breed before to know unwilling partners were none of their concern. They bred to create stronger pups, and Piers believed it to be no different when it came to Raihan’s choice in mate. Pushing aside that Piers himself was male, of course.

Ever since he met Raihan on their initial league challenge, the dragon prince stayed true to his type syncing: sharp teeth, wild eyes, bold aggression. He had an air of superiority and primal lust about him that was overwhelmingly potent to someone as faux-frail natured as himself. As they grew into young adults, Piers had begun to hear backwinded rumors that the other leader displayed a desired need to…well, frankly, mate, but he wasn’t the type to go pressing into others’ business. He knew the blissful value of wanting to stay as irrelevant, yet worthy of time in public eye, yet the embarrassment of being told on a rooftop café during heavy business overworked his nerves. Without pressing further into the matter, Piers paid his tab and left.

Piers sighed and turned back to his notepad. The only words he managed to scribble were “train” and “hell”, and he wasn’t quite sure if he was willing to write about such a thing yet. Nervously, he traded his pen for his rotom phone, hoping that rumors weren’t circling about his meetup with Raihan, and as if on cue, the main screen buzzed with an incoming call.

_RAIHAN IS CALLING…_

He stared at it pensively, but something drove him to pick it up on the fourth ring.

“’Lo, Rai.”

There was a breathy laugh. “Hey. Uh, honestly wasn’t expectin’ ya to pick up.”

“Thought about it.”

Another laugh. “Right. Well, I just wanted to talk to ya. Y’know…about what happened and what I said.”

Piers replied with a noncommittal grunt, and once Raihan realized he would say no more, he went on. “I don’t wanna go over all of it on the phone, okay? Can I come see you and explain?”

“I dunno, Rai. I’m kinda busy this evening.”

“Please. I promise I won’t make anything weird. I just really want to apologize mostly.”

Piers sighed heavily and leaned back into his seat. “Fine. Marnie’s going to be at the gym until eight, and I’d rather her not hear your…explanation.”

Raihan giggled, and the sound made heat well into Piers’ cheeks. He’d have to work on. “Yeah, of course. Ain’t gonna make her sit in some borin’ lecture. I can be there in twenty minutes, ‘kay?”

“Make it like an hour. I took the train.”

“Mhm, you got it. See you soon, mate.”

Piers’ spine tingled, and he hung up immediately. That fucking word again. He was sure Raihan meant no harm by it this time, as it was a signature in his vocabulary, but nevertheless, its effect pooled into his stomach. Piers breathed in deeply and closed his eyes, letting the soft rocking of the train carry him home.

* * *

Piers leaned against his kitchen counter, drumming his fingertips as he waited for the kettle to boil. His walk back to Spikemuth was a truly unenjoyable experience, as was rushing to his home through the waves of dark fabric and big hair. Even behind closed doors, he couldn’t relax, and he cursed himself for agreeing to see Raihan.

Nevertheless, it was too late, and he jumped when he heard a knock on his door. His pet zigzagoons woke from their bed in the corner and danced around the kitchen, joyous to have a vistor. He pushed himself off the counter and lowered his hair from his messy bun, allowing the monochromatic strands to cascade across his shoulders. He opened the door as slowly as possible, casting his gaze up toward Raihan’s electric gaze and wide grin. “You look positively chipper,” Piers said.

Raihan shrugged nonchalantly and glanced into Piers’ home, and Piers stepped back to allow him in. Raihan shoved his fists into his hoodie and inhaled a heavy breath. “Ya light a candle or something?”

“Uh, no. Just making tea.”

“Ah. Smells good,” Raihan replied and continued to saunter forward, glancing around as if he entered a museum. When approached by the zigzagoons, he bent down to scratch behind their ears, eliciting happy-go-lucky chirps and barks.

Piers narrowed his eyes and slammed the door shut. _This isn’t going to be awkward in the slightest._

He met the pace with Raihan and lead him to the kitchen. His pets went back to their bed, crimson eyes watching from atop their paws. Steam was pushing steadily through the kettle, and he took out two skull-shaped cups just in time for the whistling to begin. “Only got black tea.”

“Thas’ fine, bruv,” Raihan replied as he took a seat at the small table.

“Honey?”

“Heh, I know you ain’t talkin’ bout me?”

Piers rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated breath. The sound of Raihan’s laugh snake across his skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Calm down, Piers. I’m just only messing. Milk is fine.”

Piers continued to fix their cups, and he joined Raihan at the adjacent seat, watching curiously as Raihan examined his. “Something the matter?”

Raihan shook his head and took a sip, eyes closed in bliss. “Ah, no. I just like your aesthetic choices.”

Piers lifted his cup to his lips to suppress a groan. After a moment of awkward silence, Piers figured that Raihan was playing a little game. He was not going to outwardly begin, and Piers was in no mood to wait to see who would crack the hairline fracture first. “So…”

Raihan opened his eyes with a devilish twinkle. Piers wanted to punch his knowing smirk off his face. “So?”

“Rai, please. Let’s not play games. What did you mean when you said you want me as your…mate?”

Raihan place his cup on the table and sat taller in his chair. Even when sitting, Raihan loomed over Piers, forcing him to sit straighter to catch his expression. Surprisingly, Raihan seemed bashful, fiddling with one of the strands of his jacket. Despite this, his focus was locked on Piers, blue eyes boring into his pale skin that was dangerously close to being painted red. Piers gripped at his cup tighter.

“So,” Raihan began, pausing to chew on his lip. “Some dragon trainers tend to take on life-long partners, kind of like how some dragons do. They mark their mate, and then it’s a monogamous partnership until death.”

Piers’ cup was dangerously close to breaking in his hand, and he tore his gaze away to land them anywhere else than the dragon. “…and you want that with me?”

“Sure do.”

“Why?”

“Uh. You’re perfect for me.”

Piers faced Raihan again, brow furrowing. Morbid curiosity gripped at him. Out of all the people in Galar, and hell, the world, Piers would have picked him to be the bottom of the barrel in terms of what Raihan wanted. He had seen the people he brought to gala or charity events: tall, model-types with bright smiles and lithe figures. Every now and then the media would circuit about his “relationship” with Leon, and Piers was aware of their midnight menageries even if the press were only speculating.

Piers placed down his empty cup and crossed his arms across his waist, casting his gaze once more to study the lacey patterns of the tablecloth. “P-perfect? For you?”

“Thas’ what I said.”

Piers nodded, as if that made sense, and Raihan coughed to bring his attention back to him. “Listen. I like the way you move and sing and talk. You compliment my personality, and you’re…fuckin’ pretty. I want you, and I’m tired of not havin’ you and watchin’ everyone one else have you.” His words were lacing with reverberating growls. “You…do things to me, Piers. Always have.”

Piers blinked. Words failed him, but his blush was enough of an answer, at least to the dragon. He stood, his frame cutting the light of the kitchen and casting him into a dark glow. Piers stared in awe, unable to speak as he watched Raihan round the table and drop to his knees beside Piers. His smile was wicked, wild even. He gripped the legs of the chair and twisted the smaller male to face him, the feet of the chair calling with a loud shriek. He pushed his frame between Piers’ legs, and Piers fell limp at the motion.

He leaned back further into his chair, shutting his eyes as Raihan stuck his long nose into the crook of his jaw. The hairs on the back of Piers’ neck stood as the other inhaled his scent. Playful nips sent shockwaves across his skin, and Piers let out a whiney moan before he uncrossed his arms and yanked at Raihan’s hair to pull him away. Raihan growled, eyes veiled in a faraway ecstasy, and Piers placed his palm onto the other’s face to continue to push him further away. “No.”

“No?” Raihan repeated.

“No. Now leave. Don’t ever come back.”

Raihan licked Piers palm, and disgusted, he wiped the spit on Raihan’s jacket. Chuckling, Raihan stood up, almost reluctantly, and he flashed a toothy grin. “Just think about it, ‘kay? I promise I’ll be a great mate for you.”

He left Piers in the kitchen to notice that he never truly got an answer. _That fucking bastard and his games._


	2. Save Your Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marnie helps Piers figure out what Raihan wants, and what Raihan wants, he gets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to post this yesterday but holy hell it was a beast to edit. I'm sweating. I probably missed some stuff but here we go. 
> 
> Also, Marnie was fun asf to write and she's probably going to make more appearances that i originally planned so time to go back to the drawing board to see where i can squeeze her in.

“Wow. You look like shite,” Marnie mused as she ascended the rickety staircase to their loft. Her glance was all-encompassing, a trait that Piers simultaneously admired and hated, and the intensity was enough to turn him away. She always seemed to _just know_ , and ever since he could remember, Marnie viewed the world as if she had figured it out. Maybe she had and was keeping the information from Piers. Nevertheless, as she grew closer, her crystal pools held a candid sadness, a trait shared by the siblings.

Piers placed a cigarette to his lips and lit it, exhaling his first wisps of smoke before speaking. “Thanks.”

“No. I really mean it this time. You look like shite.”

Piers inhaled another drag to avoid commenting, yet to her, the conversation was barely breaking dawn. She plopped next to him with an exhausted huff and unstrapped her thick-soled boots she only wore during gym hours, kicking them off with bliss. Piers watched her as she wiggled her toes through her thick socks. “Wanna talk about it, bro?”

“Eh, no’ really.”

Marnie hummed a response, detailing she would ask again in a few minutes. The two sat in silence, watching as the streets below bloomed with the proverbial weeds that grew in Spikemuth’s abysses. A drug deal in plain sight; a drunk, bearded man throwing his empty liquor bottle through the window of a closed shop; and two women snogging in front of a group of young tourists, obviously catching their attention to presumably rob them later. Degeneracy was just another day in the life, a concept that past Piers was quite aware of, and yet, even as these events unfolded, the crime rates and overall rubbishness of the city was taking a turn for the better.

Piers snuck a glance at his younger sister. She was placidly examining the night, as she had done so many times before, and even those who didn’t know her could tell she was conjuring up different ways to drag Spikemuth from being the ass end of Galar. She had done more for the city within six years than Piers ever did in his ten, and if there was one thing that Piers could commend himself on regarding the matter, it was getting her on the throne. Even the worst of the worse wouldn’t dare cross Marnie, to muddy their little punk princess. They could’ve cared less about Piers, himself, as he once ran the city with an anarchical approach, indulging in the darkness and destroying the town just as it had destroyed him.

“Someone told me they saw Raihan drop by.”

Piers bristled and looked down at his feet. He could feel the intensity of her curiosity, and the ghosts of Raihan’s fangs grazed at his neck. He rubbed at the spot as if to wipe away the memory, and when somewhat satisfied, he removed it to flick the butt of his cigarette to the wind. “Aye. He did.”

“What for?”

“Dunno. I think he was a bit pissed. Talkin’ to me about dragons and shite. Wasn’t able to follow him.”

Marnie gave a noncommittal response, one that he knew meant that she wasn’t satisfied. _No one just drops by Spikemuth unless it’s for a concert or they want something._

After a moment of awkward silence, Piers let out an exasperated breath and rolled his eyes. “Listen, Marnie. I don’t want to discuss it right now.”

“So, somethin’ did happen.”

“…Kind of.”

“Mm. Thought so.” She smirked, and Piers followed it was a frown. She patted his knee softly and stood to take her leave, scooping up her boots in the process. “Well, when you’re ready, bro. And jus’ between you and me, I don’t care if he’s some famous pretty boy and I’m supposed to be on my best behavior. I’ll have the smug mug of his busted in.”

Piers chuckled and shook his head. “Not necessary. If anyone’s gonna do it, it’ll be me.”

Marnie gave him a rare genuine smile as she entered their home, leaving Piers to stare out into the neon jungle once more. He pulled out another cigarette and his rotom phone. After lighting the end, he proceeded to scroll through his social media accounts, becoming increasingly aware of how ever-present Raihan was: a picture of him at the Inter-Regional Dragon Convention with faces he recognized but names he forgot; another picture of him posted a few days ago by Nessa when he visited her in Hulbury, and the two of them were scrubbing the backs of wailmer with long handled brushes. And then, one uploaded on his own account only a few minutes ago.

Piers grimaced, feeling the secondhand embarrassment for the dragon prince; though, Raihan’s arrogant smirk was positively oblivious. He was standing in front of his mirror, the lavishness of his bathroom a fine backdrop for most of his selfies. He gave his virtual audience little to leave to their imagination with how low his towel hung on his hips, and his dark skin was glistening with the mist from his shower.

Piers’ thumb hovered over it for a moment. From time to time, he would humor Raihan by liking his selfies but with selfish intent. Piers’ screenname would appear within the first few slots, giving him the possible advantage of acquiring new fans to his music page. There was no doubt that Raihan had the most followers out of all of Galar’s leaders, with Leon and, surprisingly, Melony (who only posted pictures of Gordie or her knittings) in close second, and any way he could be noticed online, he’d suffer the consequences. Yet, with everything that had happened in the last few hours, he would rather die than give Raihan the satisfaction.

Nevertheless, he continued to rake his eyes over Raihan’s frame. Even under the towel, Piers could point out those long, strong legs, and despite their lankiness, they carried him with a confident sureness. He was all angles: sharp and powerful, from the fangs behind wicked lips and down to that keen v-cut. Even the rolling muscles in his arms and chest had a certain _je ne sais quoi_ about them.

_I’ll be a great mate for you._

“Physically yes,” Piers whispered to no one in particular. He’d be a liar if he said Raihan wasn’t attractive. More than that. Raihan was downright offensive in how good he looked, and the way he carried himself was a stark contrast to Piers’ slender body and fatalistic gait. But, Raihan’s mantra in life centered around hoggish want, and his needs were met with sex, flashy attention, and his intense rivalry with Leon. All things too overwhelming for Piers, who preferred a simpler life.

He’d never judge someone on their needs. Piers had his own and had indulged in midnight flesh too many times to count. But, he was passionate and kept his personal escapades chaste and known to few. Raihan, on the other hand, was quite proud of his exploits, and he was even more so happy to share in gritty details that Piers found embarrassing for his partners. His private life was something he would not willingly give up, and he doubted Raihan would change his outlook on the matter should Piers give in to the courtship.

Piers was brought back to reality when the backlight on his phone dimmed, and he tapped it mechanically to bring it back to life. A red heart wiggled into view, and Piers’ cigarette dropped from his lips.

_He liked Raihan’s bloody half-naked selfie!_

Panicking, he unliked the picture and exited the app, but the damage was done. Within that split second, Raihan’s name buzzed on the main screen. Piers was relieved it was only a text, as those were easier to ignore, but even then, Piers couldn’t reign himself in. His heartbeat thrummed against his ribs as he opened the text.

_Raihan: lol i saw that_

_Piers: it was an accident_

_Raihan: yeye sure it was. did ya make a decision, mate?_

Piers gripped his phone tighter.

_Piers: there isn’t a second meaning to no, rai_

_Raihan: i’m just gonna call you_

“Fuck,” Piers whispered, and yet, he answered the ring.

“Oi, Piers!” Raihan exclaimed as if he wasn’t the one who initiated the call, and the sound of his voice sent a tingle down Piers’ spine. “Ya keep surprisin’ me today, love.”

“Aye. ‘m full of surprises.”

“Right, right! Listen, I ain’t tryin’ to rush ya, ‘kay? Don’t think that you gotta say yes right now.”

Piers rolled his eyes and picked his cigarette off the ground, contemplating finishing it off. Instead he tossed it away. “That implies I’m goin’ to say yes.”

“You will. I know it.”

“What makes you think that, Raihan? I already told you three times already that I’m not interested in bein’ your prize.”

Raihan laughed, and Piers deflated. “You ain’t a prize to me, ya tart. Bein’ with you would be the prize.”

Whatever response Piers had thought of was caught in his throat, lost to the void of vicious comebacks he would imagine and beat himself up for later. Raihan, in all his daft glory, caught the stutter, and Piers didn’t need to have him at face value to know that he had a triumphant grin.

“It’s no pressure, love. Though, I have to admit I haven’t stopped thinkin’ about you all day.”

“That’s lovely.”

“It is. But, more importantly, I’ve been thinkin’ about what I didn’t get to tell you earlier, but you kicked me out before I could explain myself.” Piers paused, prompting Raihan to continue. “I follow tradition.”

“Tradition.” It was not a question.

“That’s right. Dragon folk follow a tradition whether they want to or not. It’s in our blood, and my blood is screamin’ right now.”

“Raihan, you are makin’ no sense.”

He chuckled darkly. “No, I am. You jus’ refuse to listen. Look it up, love. Dragons have rituals, and I’m just exercising mine. I gotta go now, though. Leon is comin’ over, but call me when you are ready, ‘kay?”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” Piers replied and without so much as a polite farewell, he hung up.

* * *

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Piers threw his phone across his room, and the Rotom inside activated at the sensation of falling. He paid it no mind as it whizzed closer, letting out a series of staticky, annoyed noises. He shooed it away and tapped his toes in a chaotic rhythm as he stared at the blank search bar on his computer.

_What in the bloody hell was so hard about finding information on dragonborn traditions!?_

His fingers paused briefly over the keyboard, unsure of where to start his research. He had tried searching _dragon traditions_ , though they only detailed archaic clans who worshipped the dragons of the past. _Dragon breeding_ only brought up information regarding, well, just that. He considered _dragon human mating traditions_ , but quickly wiped it from the search before pressing enter, afraid of what he could be exposed to.

Frustrated, he swiveled in his chair away from his computer and pulled his hair back into a messy bun. What was Raihan getting at? Surely the dragon folk didn’t keep their rituals hidden from public knowledge, and he was missing a crucial bit of information. His mind was racked, and he turned off his computer in defeat before heading to the kitchen.

Marnie was standing at the oven, swirling something in a pot, and Gene and Ozzy, the zigzagoons, chittered with happy greeting. At the sound of his approach, she peered over her shoulder with an inquisitive look before turning back to her cooking. “Hungry?”

“Aye,” Piers replied, bending to one knee to rub the two wiggling goons’ bellies.

“I’m making minestrone. No meat, o’course.”

Piers pulled out two bowls from the cupboard and placed them on the counter next to her. “Smells good. You get any challengers today?” Piers needed a simple conversation to keep from fraying at the ends.

“One. She was adorable but ditzy. Reminded me a bit o’ Victor.”

Piers began to set the table with placemats and silverware. “She win?”

“Mm. I was no contest for her, and I’m also not too keen on prewarning Victor about her either. I’m sure someone else will, but he’s a brainless muppet, so he probably won’t remember. Not gonna waste my breath. Come and get your bowl.”

Piers let out a breathy laugh. “Sounds to me like you still got a crush on the lil champ.”

Marnie gave him a piercing stare as she handed him his portion. “I’d rather throw my favorite pair of shoes off a bridge.”

“Aye, not like you couldn’t get another set.”

“You know they are my lucky pair, and anyways, ain’t like I’m the one who has a pest problem in the romantic department.”

Piers frowned. “Wh-what do you mean by that?”

Marnie didn’t reply, and she strutted toward her place at the table. Was she cognizant of something that Piers was not? It wouldn’t be the first time that it happened, and Piers could feel the anxiety course through his veins like venom. She couldn’t be aware of what Raihan was saying to him, even if she was eavesdropping on his earlier phone call; though with the visit and if she was spying on him, even someone like Leon could put two and two together.

He didn’t need Marnie brought into this little ritualistic game Raihan was playing.

As he went to go take his seat, a sudden spark of realization shuddered through him, and his bowl slipped from his hands.

_Mating ritual._

“Shit!” Marnie shrieked, jumping up from her chair. Food splattered across the linoleum, prompting a quick clean up from Gene and Ozzy. She pushed them away with her foot.

“That…that asshole!” Piers growled and slammed open the door of the pantry to pull out the broom. He ignored the perplexed expression from Marnie as he began sweeping. “Wasting my bloody time with this.”

“Piers, what are you talking about?”

Piers glanced at her, almost forgetting she was in the room. He huffed and tossed the shards of his mess into the bin. “No’ hungry anymore. ‘preciate dinner, though,” he mumbled before slinking toward his room.

Marnie beat him to the kitchen threshold, and even though she barely reached his chest in height, her barricade was solid. She pointed at the floor, and Piers followed her finger to the two goons lapping at the leftover spill. “You gonna mop at least?”

Piers held his breath, the anger welling in his cheeks. He knew she was only making him stick around to confess, and Piers was too mild to tell her to sod off. Sighing, he scattered his pets back to their bed, and he began fixing his mop bucket. Everything he touched felt as if they were coated in a slime, and his fingers were too weak to hold a grasp. After dropping the cleaning solution twice, he caved into himself, wrapping his arms around his abdomen, singing out a series of curse words to keep from unraveling.

“…Brother?”

Marnie never called him that unless she was worried, and why wouldn’t she be? Piers had done everything to keep from spilling over, but the exhaustion from the day’s events splintered. How could he explain that his whole life, his whole being, could easily be taken by one overly adamant man, and in a dark corner of his mind, he relished in the attention. Tears streamed down his hallowed cheeks, but they didn’t stay there for long. Warm hands cupped his head, and through the veil, Marnie was searching his face.

“I need sleep, Marnie.”

“…You’re not using-”

Piers shook his head, taking comfort in the grounding strokes of her fingers as she wiped his tears. “No. Not that. I’ve been thinking too much.”

“’Bout what?”

Piers chewed on his bottom lip. “If I tell you this, you can’t act as my savior. And no laughing. Okay?”

Marnie furrowed her brow, but then nodded her response. Piers unwrapped his arms and pulled himself from her grasp, eyes heavy. Where to begin? Instead of pondering a flowery set of exposition, Piers decided to cut right to the bone. “Raihan…uh, he wants me to be his…mate.”

The air was thick between the siblings. Piers half-expected Marnie to break her silent vow, to crack a joke or pull the largest knife from the block. But, surprisingly, she smiled softly and took to busying herself with the kettle, humming all the while. Piers stumbled for a moment, opening and closing his mouth before he finally gave up and took a seat at the table. When the tea was made, Marnie handed him a cup before filling her own proverbial one. Pushing her food aside, she sat across from him, eyes bright and smirk devilish. “Now. Go on.”

“Don’t act so happy about it.”

“Oh, psh, Piers. Are you really surprised about it?”

He rolled his eyes. “I knew you enjoyed your fair share of gossip-”

“No, you daft twat.” Marnie took a sip for dramatic effect. “How is it that I’m sixteen with zero social graces and have more perception than my rock star brother who brings home desperate groupies at three a.m.?”

Piers narrowed his eyes. She rolled her eyes and continued. “I know it’s probably hard for you to do but think hard. Look back on all the times Raihan talked to you.”

“He’s an idiot.”

“Duh, but so are you. You choose to hang around him and Leon.”

“Marnie, get to the point and stop bein’ rude.”

She giggled. “It seems like everyone, _but you,_ knew that he is obsessed with you.”

“Excuse me?” Piers replied sharply.

She shrugged. “It’s not hard to see. And anyways, let’s just say Hop told me things that Raihan said to Leon that you probably don’t want to know.”

“And why not?”

“Because you’re a prude.”

“I hate you and this conversation. We’re done.”

Marnie rolled her eyes. “Stop bein’ so dramatic and sit back down. Though, I’m curious. Are you going to let him do it?”

“No!”

“Okay. ‘s really not my business, but what I’m most interested about is what made you drop your plate.”

Piers choked and fingered at the handle of his cup. “Well, I might have figured out what he wants. Besides me,” he added for good measure when he caught her expression. “He’s been playin’ with me, like he’s baitin’ me to find the answers.”

Marnie tapped her temple with a quirky smirk. “So, what did you find out?”

A blush crept up Piers’ neck, and he turned his gaze away. “Basically, he told me that dragon folk have a tradition, and that anyone who takes on dragon attributes naturally follow it.”

“And?”

“Well, he never said what the tradition was, and I didn’t ask because I don’t care. It doesn’t affect me if I know it or not.” When she didn’t reply, he looked at her again and wish he hadn’t. “What?”

“Not my business, bro, but if it doesn’t affect you, then why were you thinkin’ about it?”

Piers finished his tea, unable to find an answer. The blush moved steadily into his face. In the back corners of his mind, he knew she was right, but he wasn’t so willing to confirm that with her. Instead, he shrugged. “Guess I like a bit o’ mental sleuthin’.”

“Don’t we all. But continue.”

“Um, well. I was doin’ online research, and I didn’t find anythin’. Then, I remembered some traditions come with rituals, and dragons are known to do dances for mating.”

“…so, you two are going to dance?”

“No! Marnie, please just listen. What I’m sayin’ is that to him, this is some mating ritual, and he’s trying to make me initiate it. I just don’t know exactly what it is.”

Marnie quipped a brow. “I thought you said you don’t care, but I think I know how I can help you.” She quickly rose from her chair and left him in the kitchen. Though she was only gone for a few moments, his head swam with possibilities, all which left him weary, and when Marnie returned with her tablet, Piers was slumped in his chair. She took her seat again.

“I watched this video a week or so ago because I couldn’t sleep, and I think this is exactly what you need to see.” She typed and scrolled away as Piers tapped an inconsistent tune with his toes, and he perked up when she let out an ingenious noise. She placed the tablet on the table and clicked on a video titled _Mating Rituals of Dragons._ The two watched silently as a narrator described the intricacies of the various drakes that littered the regions.

Some, such as haxorus and kommo-o, would do things such as impress their desired mate with strange, serpentine dances, blending the moves with flashes of their natural defenses. Piers mentally tucked away the ringing tune that one kommo-o created with strikes of his tail, interested that such a bulky, dangerous creature could make a complex melody.

Others were more poised on being noticed in general, like a male duraludon as it rapidly flickered the luminescent window-like scales on its belly to call into the snowy wasteland in which it roamed.

Yet, when a dragonite came on screen, Marnie pointed at it fervently. “This. Watch this.”

Piers leaned in closer. He had seen dragonites aplenty. Usually happy-go-lucky creatures who seemed more willing to pick flowers than fights. Yet, something about this one was different. There was an intense determination in its eyes as it scoured the water beneath the cliff it stood on. The narrator made sure to point out that this one was a male, and that every year, male dragonites would encroach on territories owned by their female counterparts to court them.

Another frame shot had another dragonite, the female, breach its head from the lake and call up to her courter, and Piers sucked in air, not realizing he had stopped breathing. The male dragonite’s expression broke, turning into something barbaric and nothing like Piers had ever seen on a pokemon before. It stretched its wings wide and bared its fangs, as if challenging the female, and in fact, that’s exactly what it was doing.

Piers continued to watch as the narrator explained that most dragons would _rut,_ and during mating season, these ruts would transform mostly docile creatures into aggressive, testosterone-drive tanks. The male dragonite pushed himself from the edge of the cliff, diving toward the female. Knowing the game was set, the female lifted into the sky, prompting a chase.

It was apparent that the camera work had a difficult time keeping up as the two spiraled through the air at breakneck speed, yet Piers took note that the male dragonite seemed to become more and more enraged as the chase went on. The female nimbly descended downwards, crashing into the water below, with the male at her heels.

The two beelined through the water, creating vicious currents in their wake. The male continued to be lost in its own world, hyper focused on his prize ahead, and just when he nearly caught up to the female, she rounded upward toward the sky again. The male was too slow on his own change of direction and slipped to a halt before emerging from the water to watch as all his effort flew off.

The video continued as such. Dragon after dragon shown in an incredibly new light that Piers had never truly known about. Even those that couldn’t fly had some sort of chase ritual, and Piers pressed backward in his chair when the proverbial dead rapidash was being beat. He took down his bun to run his fingers through his hair and bellowed a curse. Marnie shut off her tablet.

“Does that answer your question?”

“Yeah, and I’m not happy about it.”

“Course not,” she quipped and stood. She pressed a gentle kiss to Piers’ forehead before heading to her own room with a bounce in her step. “Better you know than stayin’ ignorant.”

When he heard the click of her door, he huffed and slumped over the table, phone heavy in his pocket. He had two options: pretend he had no idea and move on with his life; or text Raihan. He fiddled with the lace on the tablecloth and mumbled incoherent words when he finally decided on the latter.

_Piers: you up?_

He barely had time to place his phone down when he received a response.

_Raihan: :) yes_

_Piers: i know what you want now_

_Raihan: heh enlighten me!_

_Piers: you want to chase me?_

_Raihan: bingo, bruv! <3 _

_Piers: well its not gonna happen_

_Raihan: :(_

_Piers: its not, rai_

_Raihan: well, as far as im concerned, it is because its already happening_

Piers’ arms tingled with goosebumps.

_Piers: wdym?_

_Raihan: you accepted it already_

_Piers: when did i do that?_

_Raihan: when you texted me_

Piers typed a response but erased it, placing his phone down. _Accepted it?_ Did he mean…

_Raihan: mate?_

_Piers: stop calling me that. i did not accept anything._

_Raihan: you took the time to figure it out and THEN you texted me. you want it, piers. when i kissed your neck yesterday, i could smell it on you. you smell different when im around, don’t lie_

_Piers: i don’t know what that fucking means, rai!_

_Piers: so, if i accepted it, what does this mean now?_

_Raihan: it means when i find you, i mate you and i mark you. if you are curious about what marking is, just go look up how hydreigons mark each other. nasty business but i cant wait to do it to you~_

_Piers: …_

_Raihan: heh. ofc i want you to really want it, baby, but like i said, you’ll be mine. you will belong to me. only me and i would only be yours_

Sweat was beading at his temples. His nerves were vibrating, and his heart felt like it jumped into his throat.

_Raihan: wanna make a wager?_

_Piers: …?_

_Raihan: i’ll give ya a fighting chance. if you can hide from me long enough, i wont mark or mate ya, kay?_

_Piers: how long is long enough?_

_Raihan: starting tomorrow and for the next week, ill hunt you. ill chase you, and if i find you, i wont hold back._

_Piers: a week!?_

_Raihan: yep :)_

_Piers: and so if i evade you during that time, no marking?_

_Raihan: nope :(_

_Piers: and not mating?_

_Raihan: nuh-uh :((((((((_

_Piers: …and what if I say no in general?_

_Raihan: conditions already set so if i find you at home tomorrow, you’re mine_

_Piers: arceus, at least give me a solid time frame_

_Raihan: tomorrow starting at 7am – next saturday 7 am. one full week._

Piers clicked his tongue. No matter what he’d say, Raihan would dismiss it entirely.

_Piers: one week_

_Raihan: one week!! ill even be nice to you and give you a 3hr head start!_

_Piers: great. thanks_

_Raihan: :) yw~ now get some sleep, baby. youll need it_

Piers turned off his phone and strode to his room, mind in a haze. Once the door was shut, he pressed against it, sliding down until his head was in between his knees.

_Count to ten,_ he thought. _Count to ten, and when the seconds are up, get your shit packed and get a head start._

_Ten._

_“_ What am I doing?”

_Nine._

“He can’t be serious.”

_Eight._

“I can’t be serious.”

_Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One._

Piers eyes shot open, their oceans roaring to life.


	3. I Was Never There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Piers makes many mistakes in this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah, this took me forever. Have yall ever had one of those weird writer's blocks where you have the energy and desire to write and you know exactly how you want the story to go, but the moment you sit down to write, you forget how English works? But, I managed to push through so sorry in advance if this isn't my most gripping work. Buckle up because it's a long one. 
> 
> Also, I would like to note that I was hella surprised to see the amount of kudos and bookmarks. Last time I checked this, I only had 20 something kudos and 7 bookmarks so I'm downright excited to see the interest. Thanks :)))

There was no turning back now, and Piers rose from his position and strode to the middle of the room, clinging to his final bit of moxie so he could work out a list. He hadn’t travelled through Galar’s wilds since he dropped out of his league challenge nearly a decade ago, and even back then, his survival skills were novice at best. Learning to navigate the streets of Spikemuth did nothing to prepare him for the ferocity of the region’s hinterlands, and Piers figured his current cushy lifestyle had squashed the rest of the primeval finesse from his DNA. 

Piers ran slender fingers through his hair and marked the first two items on his list: hairbrush and hair ties. Maybe even a bottle of dry shampoo, but he’d save a spot for that should he have room in his travel pack. Other needs followed suit as he remembered the past struggles he endured due to lack of research beforehand. Basic items such as a sleeping bag, flashlight, canteen, extra socks and underwear, and energy bars were obvious, but hindsight reminded him that iodine drops, a flint rock, and a coat to stave off the spring chill would be beneficial.

He clicked his tongue and motioned toward his closet. He wasn’t sure if he had most things on his list, but he knew he had kept his travel and sleeping bags (yet, a part of him wondered if he would even fit in the latter). He flung the doors open and pulled the two supplies from the corner. His bag was made of thick, dark leather, had many useful pockets, and besides some dust and wear, it was in relatively good shape.

His sleeping bag was a different story. It was a Christmas gift from his grandfather, and his younger self did a poor job at keeping it intact. Stuffing was popping through tears, and the zipper stuck often, barely hanging onto its metal connector. He’d be lucky if the thing would stay on for the entire week, and he figured that if he brought Obstagoon and his coat, it would be more of a barrier from the ground than anything else. Also, sticky zippers would pose a hazard should he need to flee quickly.

The image of such an occasion flooded his mind, and he sighed while placing the two items aside. He rummaged through the boxes that lined the shelves above his hanged clothes, and he was able to find a flashlight with working batteries and a small, forgotten flask engraved with an emolga. He frowned as he flipped it over to find another engraving: a heart. Elesa had it specially made for him as a token of her affection during his tour in Unova a few years back. They had spent nearly every night together, and when his band made plans to hit the next region, he left without giving her so much as a goodbye. He replaced the flask back into its box, making a mental note to apologize later.

He continued to fish through his belongings and created two piles: _bring and bring if necessary_. He went to his dresser to plan out his clothes. To save space, he decided on a single set of thermal pajamas and a duel-rotation of two long-sleeved, black v-necks and black joggers. He would replace his usual heeled shoes for a pair of old hiking boots, and for good measure, he placed the extra shoelaces that came with them in the bring pile.

Once he was properly packed and dressed, he rounded his room one last time before heading to the kitchen. He stopped short when he spotted Marnie at the end of the hall, and the determination on his face fell when he saw the smirk on her lips. Yet, she spared him her thoughts, striding toward him and locking him into an embrace. “Be safe, Piers. Come home a winner.”

A dispirited smirk pulled at his lips, uncertain if what she said had a double meaning, but he hugged her back, grateful for the rare moment of sibling intimacy. When they parted, she gave him once last wink before slinking back into her room.

He didn’t spend much time in the kitchen. Most of their food items would not be ideal for camping, and besides two packs of toaster treats, granola, and pokefood, he would have to brave the 24-hour mart near the Pokecenter. He’d hope that the place would be void of familiar faces so he wouldn’t have to explain himself, but he knew that wish was displaced. Spikemuth and its denizens never slept.

Before leaving, he cooed to Gene and Ozzy, scratching their bellies and the nape of their necks. He tickled at the idea of bringing one along, to see if they would be willing to evolve, but he cut that thought short. He didn’t need another mouth to feed, and especially didn’t need the risk of carrying an inexperienced fighter. He’d save that for another time.

With a reflective sigh, he slipped his arms into his coat, slung the pack over his shoulder, and exited his home. As if the click of the door was the final catalyst to his fraying nerves, his gut dropped lower in his abdomen, and an icy wave followed suit. He trembled as he turned the lock closed, and he stared into the grains of the rust-colored paint without really seeing it. Something in the back of his mind was dooming him, predicting that the next time he’d walk through the threshold, he’d be different. Whether or not that difference would be based on Raihan was entirely up in the air, but he would be damned if he didn’t go down without some sort of fight.

But what power did he possess? Raihan was more than a head higher than himself and nearly two stones larger. Raihan, physically, was all legs, and outrunning him would be nearly impossible. Piers had firsthand experience of how swiftly the man could get from one end of a battle pitch to the other, and keeping his own lack of fitness in mind, he knew that in all accounts, he was fucked in the speed department. But, what Raihan lacked was nimbleness, and Piers, despite his laziness, was quite agile and slippery. At least he had that one saving grace.

He shook his head, and without a second glance, he pivoted on his heel and descended the stairs. Whatever rotten luck there was in the world decided to cut him a break, and the walk to the store was relatively bare. The few persons on the streets paid him no mind, wrapped up in their own demented shenanigans to even recognize him. He found out a few paces later that most of the city was squeezed into the grimy pub known as _Sour Mason’s_ , watching a cage fighting match between two foreign contenders. Being preoccupied by the sport meant that Piers would be able to shop in private, and he was not disappointed when he entered the mart.

Unlike most cities, the Spikemuth mart that catered to trainers and vagabonds was small. What little they offered could be bought elsewhere, such as in Hammerlocke in the west or Circhester to the north, but Piers was not too keen on the idea of going to either city. He purchased a canteen, a tactical knife, iodine drops, multiple protein bars, and a soda (more as a godspeed gift to himself). Before reaching the counter, he analyzed a few hats hanging near a postcard station. None were flashy, though all were meant for tourists. Nevertheless, he pulled a black baseball cap with a tiny, stitched image of a morpeko from the rack and brought all his goods to the register. The cashier was quiet as she scanned the items; though, Piers caught a curious glint in the corner of her eye. _Great, one witness thus far_.

He left the shop, shoved the hat onto his head, and veered his path toward the hole in the compound that only Marnie and he were aware of. Years of unuse had caused old shipping containers and rusted tin roof slats to pile up and block the familiar way, but he managed to find an open space and squeezed past the barriers. Glittering shards of broken bottles awaited him on the other side. Even with Marnie as the town savior, she couldn’t erase all the damage and decay in the city, and he treaded carefully, flinching at each sharp crunch of the glass.

He paused when he reached the familiar crumble of bricks, searching for any new signs of wear. Even after all this time, the weatherworn hole persevered, seemingly unchanged, and he ran a flat palm down one of the sides. Every time he took this route, it was due to a solemn circumstance, and he believed the hole casted a curse of its own. After their parents died or when their grandfather, who became their sole guardian after the fate, would drown himself in whisky, Piers would drag Marnie along. He assumed the fresh air and a gentler pace would help quell her tears, but for most of his early teens, all he could remember were her wails. His frown deepened.

He stepped into the clearing, and once outside, a sense of relief washed over him. He paused briefly to inhale a sharp, chilling breath. The air was thick with the scent of blooming sweetgrass, and the chipper spring wind carried their swaying song. Above, the moon was only a sliver in the sky and would pose no help for light. Not that Piers minded. True to his own type affinity, he loved the dark and would even go on to say he worshipped it. There was a certain peace it brought, even when the world within it bustled.

He pulled out his phone to hail a corviknight taxi, and while he waited, he sipped on his soda and reorganized his things. The giant bird and its rider arrived within a few short minutes however, causing Piers to shove the rest of his items wherever he could manage, and he approached the carriage with a sheepish smile.

“Is tha’ you, Piers?”

_Fuck_. “Aye, it’s me,” he muttered as he lowered his cap.

“What’cha doin’ out ‘ere, lad?”

Piers opened the door to the taxi and threw his pack inside. “I’ll give you an extra ‘undred if you don’t ask me that question again, and you pretend like you didn’t even see me.”

The driver leaned over the side of his bird and lifted his wind googles to analyzed Piers curiously, and Piers warmed under his gaze. He was beginning to feel like a criminal, but the driver gave a cheery nod and asked no further questions on the matter. “Mm, so where ya ofta?”

Piers jumped into his seat, pondering quickly. He had only planned where he _didn’t_ want to be, and pressing the button to the one-way radio, he blurted out the first place that came to mind. “ _Mac Con Uladh_.”

The static of the driver’s voice filled the intercom. “In Stony?”

“Aye.”

“Wha-” The driver paused, remembering their deal. “If ya say so, lad, but I’ll have ya know it’s been rainin’ one hell of a bloody storm out there for a few days.”

“Perfect.”

There was no response, and the silence broke when the giant raven spread its wings. The carriage rocked upon initial takeoff, flooding the taxi in an uproar of wind, and he gripped the edge of his seat. Even though he often rode in taxis, his fear of flying never dissipated, but as he was lifted higher, he exhaled and sank further into the pleather cushions. He proceeded to take advantage of the hour or so flight to the Stony Wilderness and shut his eyes for some sleep. He was sure that the next few days, rest would be hard to come by.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t turn off his brain. He wondered if being in that area of the Wild would be problematic for him tomorrow. The Stony Wilderness was only a few hours walk to the gates of Hammerlocke, and surely Raihan wouldn’t believe Piers was stupid enough to take the chance. Yet, tactically, Piers was at a slight advantage. 

Through his haste, he had chosen an ancient burial site in which to hide. _Mac Con Uladh_ was an old shrine to a warrior king in which it got its name, and the entrance was the remains of a once great castle that rested at the top of the largest hill. Despite the air of significance, Piers would bet coin that he would be entirely alone, if not one of the first people to walk its halls in the last year. People refused to explore the ruins, and Galar’s government spent little effort to protect its historical value, considering it more of a mythos and leaving it to dissolve under the elements. Old legends claimed that Mac Con Uladh, himself, still roamed the castle, viciously guarding his treasures from thieves, but Piers knew this was nothing but an archaic wive’s tale, considering he spent a few nights within the broken walls when he was fifteen. He was embarrassed to admit he did search the underbelly of the spiritual grotto below its foundation hoping to find said treasures, but whatever loot did still lie was worthless or lost.

Piers’ eyes flew open when the taxi began to toss about, and he raised up in his seat to catch the undulating lights of Hammerlocke. The stadium castle loomed above the city, a once oppressive mast to the old fortress, and he squinted through the rain-specked windshield for a light in Raihan’s tower. Unfortunately, the tower was dark, and Raihan was getting some undeserved rest.

The taxi swayed forcefully again, causing an ominous twill from the corviknight, and Piers balled his fist until his knuckles turned white. A few seconds later, the driver buzzed on the radio. “Donnae worry ya head, Piers. Just some front winds, and this bird is young. He’s no’ used to fighting the updraft.”

Piers nodded stiffly as if the driver were around to see it, and he uncurled his hands to wipe the sweat against his joggers. He pulled out his rotom phone to take his mind off his anxiousness. The time read that it was barely past two a.m., and he casually browsed his social media, scrolling quickly past any posts of Raihan, before logging out of it entirely when his nerves had enough.

As they crossed into the Hammerlocke Hills and onward into the Stony Wilderness, the storm bogged down on the taxi, encasing the carriage in blinding rain and howling winds. In the distance, the clouded sky illuminated with lightning, and the boom of thunder followed soon afterwards. The corviknight shrilled, though its cry was drowned out. Feeling terrible for the bird, Piers opened the taxi app and threw in extra tip money for the trouble.

Finally, the corviknight reached the castle. As stated, the storm was swirling wildly, and Piers heard the soft popping of hail batter against his window. _Another catch twenty-two for his advantages_. The driver flipped on the floodlight at the underside of the carriage, and the top of the hill came into view. The ground was sodden and speckled brown from upheaved grasses, and the protruding stones that littered the steeping curves were black from rain-wash. A thin stream cut from the broken steps of the castle and through the west side of the hill on its decline to the base. Piers smiled triumphantly, despite his upcoming troubles. Even someone as athletic as Raihan would struggle through the uphill mud and ice slick, allowing Piers an edge, and that knowledge alone settled him.

The driver came on the speaker again, ripping Piers from his strategies. “Hol’ onto ya arse. Landin’ is gonna be rough.”

Piers pressed the button to reply. “Jus’ get me as close to the ground as possible, and I’ll hop out.”

“Alrighty then, lad.”

The winds from the moors gusted as they neared closer, and Piers sucked in a breath to ease his nerves. He put on his pack, and when the driver gave him the go-to, he jumped from the carriage. He slipped and fell face first into the earth, and he cursed. Above him, a twinkling laugh carried into the darkness, and Piers wiped the cold mud from his face as he glowered into the sky. The taxi’s light blinded him, and the driver’s voice was only a glee-filled ghost as he called down. “Oi, lad. If ya change yer mind about bein’ out here, jus’ give me a call. I’ll come get ya, no questions asked.”

Embarrassed, Piers merely nodded as he stood, and the floodlight cut, throwing him into the night. He waited until he could no longer hear the taxi, and he trudged the rest of the way to the broken castle. Unlike Hammerlocke, _Mac Con Uladh_ was unimpressive. During its hay days, the castle would have only been three, maybe four, floors high and carved from the mystic, purplish stones on the Stony. But, the elements and forgotten wars caused the parapets and hard curtains to cave in, and the left wall of the keep was completely stripped away. Stone and mortar littered around its father source, and moss had claimed it as a throne, turning the place into a void in the pitch.

To get inside, he had to climb the fallen debris, and he carefully placed each step to avoid slipping again. His fingers numbed against the icy rocks, and his body racked with each blow of the wind. The endeavor seemed to come at an impasse halfway through, where he stood locked in a teetering emotion between wanting to cry and wanting to scream. He was freezing, and his wet clothes clung to his lithe frame, only worsening his ascent. With a sharp growl and blinded by the rain, he gritted his teeth and continued. When he reached the solid landing, he didn’t bother to stand up, and he crawled into dry shelter. He took a moment to catch his breath, watching it form in clouds of hot mist, and he wiggled his digits to spark life back into them.

When his breath slowed, he shook himself free from his pack and strained his ears for any signs of life. There was no other noise besides his panting and the drumming of rain, and he quickly pulled out his flashlight. As predicted, the place was completely vacant sans empty, spiral-shaped nests that hung in the corners, and he swept his beam of light across what he assumed to be the great hall. The ceiling above was bent precariously, and a gushing fall emptied into the open area, draining through the bare wall of the keep. The smell of mold and rock dust clung to the air, and no matter where he walked, the cold kept its strong clutch on him.

He leaned his flashlight against the furthest wall, and he unstrapped his sleeping bag from the front of his pack, turned it inside out, and smoothed it out on the driest area of the floor. As he worked, he hummed, allowing himself to move mechanically to forget the chill. He inspected one of the nests, and concluding that it was empty, he yanked it from its foundation. He did the same to two others and crumbled them into a small pile near his sleeping bag. He retrieved his flint rock and after a few strikes, the sticks burst into a small flame, and Piers eyed it carefully as he stripped himself from his damp clothes and rung his hair.

When the flame flickered steadily, he hurried to lay his clothes and cap across a boulder and joined the light, sitting back onto his heels to warm his fingers and toes. He grimaced as the fire did little to improve his circulation, and he was beginning to feel utterly barbaric. He could call the driver back to take him somewhere less wet and maybe a few degrees warmer, but Piers was too proud to see his efforts wasted for his own comfort.

Sighing, he scooted closer to his pack and pulled out his pajamas. At least everything inside the pack stayed untouched by the weather, and he dressed himself quickly, doubling his socks and throwing his dry long-sleeve over his thermal shirt. His coat would be useless for the evening, and thus, he pulled out his Obstagoon’s ball and released him.

The oversized weasel barked in confusion, swiveling his head around to take in his surroundings, and then eyed his master with discontent. The creature, despite his brutish appearance, was like Piers and had little knowledge outside modern convenience; however, when he noticed Piers shivering, his unhappiness subsided, and his black lips pulled into a frightened scowl. He quickly swept Piers into his arms and curled into him, enclosing Piers in much needed heat. Piers intwined his fingers into Obstagoon’s fur and buried his face into his chest. The beast reeked, but Piers muttered a quick thanks and fell into silence.

Piers drifted into a lethargic veil, strung along in a strange consciousness by the crashing of the falling water and the thrumming of Obstagoon’s heart. Every so often, the howling wind would hit the draft, and the walls would whistle in phantom’s song. Piers would jolt awake but would quickly succumb to his exhaustion before he had time to conjure up a catastrophe. At one point in the night, he opened his eyes to find that his fire had died and the rain gentled. He pulled from Obstagoon’s arms to turn off his flashlight and returned to the warmth just as quickly, and he finally drifted into a dreamless sleep.

When he woke, the sky was a pearl grey and the rain had ceased. Obstagoon was still draped over him in a protective embrace, snoring loudly, and Piers immediately felt sorry for the weasel’s back. However, the pokemon didn’t seem to mind, and Piers pursed his lips as he watched a string of drool dangle from Obstagoon’s tongue, dangerously close to breaking and falling onto his chest. He pushed Obstagoon’s head away, eliciting a groggy whimper from him, and Piers wiggled out of his grasp.

The air struck his bared skin violently, and he shoved his fingers into his armpits as he peered at last night’s clothes. Crystals clung to the fabric, and he huffed. Having a coat would have to wait until the day warmed with the afternoon, and he hoped the sun came with it.

He scooted toward his pack and pulled out the bag of pokefood and flung it toward the weasel. Obstagoon caught it with a gracious, sleepy grin and unzipped the bag hastily. He shoved his snout into his food, wolfing the kibbles down with hearty snarls, and Piers gently smacked the side of his head. “Don’t eat it all, you git. I’m no’ plannin’ on going to the store anytime soon, so if you run out, that’s on you.” Obstagoon ignored him and continued eating. Figuring his comment lost, Piers smirked and dug out his own breakfast of granola. He chewed slowly to avoid losing it, considering his last meal was lunch the previous day, and after a few handfuls, the nausea hit him. He replaced it back in his pack.

The morning moved wistfully, almost painfully. The castle and the sky were like an overturned milk bowl, casting a faint, grim light on every corner, and Piers found himself nodding off and on throughout the morning. He realized that Raihan would not be the only thing he’d have to fight this week, and antsy boredom overtook him in the early afternoon. During his wake periods, he would fidget on his phone, scrolling through social media in an anxious need to see a post of Raihan’s whereabouts. It had become apparent that the other man would be taking a short break from his daily multi-selfies, and somewhere out there, he was beginning his hunt. Even through the cold, sweat beaded on Piers’ neck.

Dismally, the sun did not peek through the drape of wispy clouds, and the temperature barely grazed past bearable. Ice and water no longer coated his clothes, but as his tried to fold them, he was met with stiffness. He shoved them under his sleeping bag, not sure if it would do anything to soften the fabric.

He proceeded to slip his arms in his coat and shimmied his shoulders until the arms no longer fought his movements. He turned to Obstagoon, who had found his own humor by chewing on his claws, and he snapped to get the pokemon’s attention. He jerked his head, and Obstagoon snorted in natural defiance but pushed himself off the ground to join his master. The two set off into the crumbling halls.

Thick ivy and lichen coated most of the inside and breaks in the foundation were painted in ivory and violet blooms. Obstagoon followed him through his wandering of each room, loyal despite his boredom, and every time Piers turned back to show him something, the pokemon’s gaze was turned elsewhere. He didn’t seem to appreciate the rocks and invasive flora as much as his master, but when Piers pointed out a seemingly out of place cave near the crumbling hearth, he hurried to inspect.

The two stood at the edge of the mouth, watching as dirt and dust swirled in the weak afternoon light. Sometimes, the particles would dance into the right spot, causing them to twinkle, and Piers faintly remembered old stories his gran told him about the will-o-wisps that beckoned gullible strangers. He turned to smile at Obstagoon and took a few steps forward, the pokemon whined with excitement, sticking close to Piers’ heels

As they moved deeper into the earth, Piers pulled his flashlight from his back pocket and glided the light across the grotto. A dark tunnel was carved into the left wall, leading to some unknown destination. When he was younger, Piers had tried to follow it once, but he became claustrophobic and turned back. He continued his sweep, directing the beam toward a myriad of menacing stone faces that loomed above the open area. Obstagoon’s fur raised, and he growled at the cold, intruding eyes. Piers chuckled and placed a gentle hand on the largest of them. “Quiet down. They ain’t real.”

Unsatisfied, Obstagoon ripped one last snarl before turning his back. Piers laughed again and turned his focus to analyze the detail. Erosion had caused most of the faces’ features to sag and drip with condensation, but the largest face, that of a woman framed in a laurel wreath, had kept her beauty. From what he remembered from his old history lessons, she was the mother of the first warrior in Galar, and many old knights and kings worshipped her, calling on her divine aid in battle. Unfortunately, he had forgotten her name, and even so, he was sure he couldn’t pronounce the ancient Galarian roots.

He, himself, was not so paganistic or spiritual for the matter; nevertheless, he grazed her cheek once more, sending a quick prayer for his own victory.

With benediction, he pulled away from the faces and motioned at Obstagoon. He led him into the winding passageway. Somewhere further inward, Piers could hear the gushing of wild water. He assumed the rain had burst forth an underground aquifer as he could not recall hearing one from his past visits, and as the two came to a fork, the rushing reverberated off the walls. Letting fate decide for him, he took the right fork, and the two followed the dirt path for some time. Unlike the alcove, these halls were bare, and the only faces they came across were shocked expressions of wimpods before they scurried into hidden burrows. Obstagoon made a game of chasing them, his rumbling laugh echoing in his wake.

The further they walked, the sound of the aquifer faded, and Piers caught a dim light peeking in the distance. As he neared, he flipped off the flashlight and stopped at the edge of stone steps. Apparently, this trail was an escape route, presumably for past royalty, and he smiled as he ascended. This would become his now.

At the top, he pushed aside a wall of hanging vines and squinted into the light. A large meadow stretched before him. Bright wildflowers dotted the emerald grasses, and only a few paces away held a slew of trees. The annuals were still skeletal from the winter, and the surviving ferns and pines made for good insulation. Curiosity drove him, and he climbed from the lair. Obstagoon rushed past him, slamming face first into the field and proceeded to wiggle his body into the dirt.

Piers genuinely giggled and playfully kicked the weasel’s side. “You are one stupid creature, aren’t you?”

Obstagoon smiled, and Piers joined him, lying on his back and twining his fingers into his tangled locks. The two stayed there, relishing in the breaking light and efflorescence scents, until the sun crested into midafternoon and his stomach rumbled. Piers lifted himself and plucked the dead flora from his hair before beckoning Obstagoon back to the underground trail.

The walk back to camp was breezy, and Piers felt light on his feet. Obstagoon seemed to be in high spirts too, his tongue lolling past his lips, and when they reached the sleeping bag, Obstagoon flopped down and closed its eyes for a nap. Even through his guise, Piers couldn’t shake the worried thought that Raihan could ambush him at any minute. He left his pokemon to mount the rickety staircase to the second floor, hoping for more distractions.

He paused on the landing, picking up a large rock to test the infrastructure. He threw it in the middle of the room, and when everything appeared sturdy, he crossed the foyer to the open wall. On the horizon, he caught the glimmer of one of Wild lakes, and miniscule dots were hovering around its edge. The sun was still locked behind its prison, and like the castle, the Stony seemed impossibly still, yet clamorous all at once. Sharp twills of unknown birds crested the air, and the cacophony of combee buzzed to-and-fro between the spring flowers.

Subconsciously, he grazed his fingers across his neck. He sighed when he noticed his action and dropped his hand to his side. Even in the calm, he was ensnared within the maws of his pursuer. He edged closer to the ledge and sat down, letting his feet hang over the side.

If Raihan was so certain of his triumph, what stopped him from taking Piers in his kitchen? If he was not so inclined to make his life a game, the two could move on with their lives. Even more so, what made the dragon sure that Piers would remain loyal? The two had never been on a date, and most of their interactions were during the annual league challenge. But when Piers retired, the two saw each other twice a year at most, and all this time, was Raihan secretly pining, waiting for this exact moment? Piers sighed to clear his head.

Granted, Raihan was brash and not as stupid as Piers made him out to be. He was diverse in language and the history of Galar, and he was quick to educate others on archaic arts. But, there was that sense of the untamed, and if there was anything that Piers feared the most about the man, it was that he was both intelligent and feral, a bad combination for those who challenged him. He did not win the spot in Hammerlocke on sheer brutality and confidence alone.

He picked up another rock and tossed it to the ground below. He needed a cigarette, and as he imagined opening his new pack, a dark form breached the horizon. At first, he believed it to be nothing more than a wild pokemon, but what struck him as odd was that it was running. From what he wasn’t sure, and he waited to see if he was witnessing a hunt. But as the shape rushed closer and nothing was trailing it, a shiver racked his spine, and Piers’ mouth fell open. He jumped up from his position, squinting for better clarity. In all accounts, it could just be an overzealous journeyman, but his hope was crushed when a stray, feeble beam of light struck the figure, illuminating mocha skin and a flash of gold.

There was no mistaken that was _his_ hoodie, and every nerve in his body was screaming at him, driving him to run. But he stayed rooted in his place, gripping his shirt in fear. All the while, his mind flooded with his escape route, and before he knew it, Raihan was standing at the base of the hill. He was breathing heavily through his grin, and even through his exertion, his chest was puffed out. Piers’ gaze immediately shot to his teeth, and he flinched.

“Ya made it too easy for me, baby,” the dragon called, licking his lips. Piers shifted his sight to lock eyes with him, but the visual contact made him even more unsteady.

“Mm, seems that way,” he replied weakly.

Raihan laughed, dark and velvety, and he place his right foot on the incline. Piers took a step back in tandem.

_Their first game was set_. 

Piers slid his opposite foot to meet the other, observant to Raihan’s delighted reaction, and began to calculate his escape rate. All in all, he knew he had a successful chance in getting a head start, even with the hinderance of packing up camp and fleeing into the grotto. The hill would still be slick, and if he was lucky, the effort would drain Raihan. Maybe then they would be on an even playing ground. Piers was almost certain he wouldn’t make it halfway through the tunnel if Raihan hit a second wind.

Piers was ripped from his frozen chokehold when his hunter moved to take his stance. Raihan’s sardonic grin widened with sport, and he launched himself up the hill in one long stride. Piers winced, igniting his instincts, and twirled around to sprint down the stairs. Halfway, he slipped on a smooth stone and tumbled to the base floor where he landed with a heavy thud. His breath escaped him, and he raised up on his hands and knees, gulping for air.

He was panicking. Hell, he was losing it. His mind was fogged with dread and anticipation, and all his prior planning was threading away, succumbing to his most basic prey impulses. But he couldn’t stay here, and every moment he wasn’t running was less time to put distance between himself and the dragon’s jaw.

The simple thought of pain from his fangs shot him into overdrive, and he inhaled one last deep breath before lifting himself up and drifting into his camp. His Obstagoon was wide awake and baring his teeth, perplexed but ready to defend his master. Piers had no time to explain to the poor creature, and he dug the ball from his bag and returned the pokemon, ignoring the disconcerted whine as he vanished in a stroke of red light. Hastily, he threw the ball into the front pocket of his pack and rolled up his sleeping bag. As he gathered his belongings, he would feel the hair rise on the back of his neck and imagine hot breath cascading over him, but when he turned to peer over his shoulder, he was still alone. He had to stop panicking, but it was easier said than done. His breath quickened, and his heart pumped against his chest, blood rushing to his ears and impairing him further. He shoved his things wherever they could manage, and he took off toward the grotto without bothering to zip his bag properly.

He felt like an animal as he descended into the earth, and as he reached the alcove of faces, he was given a brief moment of clarity. With dry humor, he wondered if the mother warrior had returned his prayer with her blessing, and he recalled his escape route. It was simple enough. Left wall held the tunnel and at the fork, take a right. But, the darkness would delay him, and using a flashlight would exponentially decrease his chances of escape. He would just have to do it with sheer grit.

He jumped when he heard a low howl echo through the walls, but to his good fortune, it was faint. Raihan must have just reached the halls, but that was still too close for comfort. A second yell resonated, sounding eerily like his name, and Piers sped to the wall, feeling his path along the rock until his hand landed on air.

He took the tunnel in long, careful strides. There was no sense in running, though his muscles twitched with the concept. He couldn’t make careless mistakes in the dark, not with Raihan possessing some sort of magic he was unaware of. He bit his lip as he moved against the wall, never letting his fingertips detach from their searching. His mind raced, oppressed by the pitch and the roaring of the underground river.

How was Raihan able to find him so quickly? He believed he had one-upped his senses. Rain supposedly washed scents away, and his close proximity to Hammerlocke was all-in-all a good strategy. He wondered if the other man cheated in some way, such as using the more complex senses of his pokemon or even possibly paying Piers’ taxi driver for information. _Fuck_. He should’ve made ground rules with Raihan to prevent such tragedies.

He knew he reached the fork when he was disoriented by the rushing water, and he tensed when he left the safety of his wall to rebound to the other side. When his palm struck cold earth, he continued his painfully slow journey through the right tunnel. Further and further, the undulating sounds of the river faded, and he was acutely aware of the stillness.

He paused at one point, straining his ears to hear anything, but even the wimpods from before were quiet. Sweat was beading at his temples, and he gulped, stricken by the dryness in his throat. He needed water, and the silence was not reassuring enough to dig for his canteen. He continued slower, meticulous about each step so he could listen for any sign of Raihan.

But, as the light at the end of the tunnel broke on the horizon, his nerves settled. Maybe being underground was enough of a cause for Raihan to turn tail, to take his hunt elsewhere, and a wry smirk pulled at Piers lips. The closer he advanced to the end, the faster his legs carried him, and he greeted the staircase with a triumphant, breathy laugh.

He climbed the steps to safety, pushing aside the vines and relishing in the soft light. The sun had drifted toward the west, and with some reverence, the saffron beams of the late afternoon burst through the clearing sky. The warmth was wanted on his cheeks as he pushed through the hole, and he strode through the glade toward the tree line.

Believing his escape fruitful was his mistake. In the flash of a moment, Piers heard a sinister growl, and before he could register the source, he was pushed onto his back and pinned under the weight of Raihan. He gawked at the vicious smile painted on the dragon’s face, and as he glanced into Raihan’s eyes, he remembered the dragonite from the video. Whatever Raihan was the day before was gone, and Piers was at the mercy of a beast.

But, the other man made no attempts to be charitable as he dug his nails into Piers’ wrists until his hands went numb. Raihan drove his arms higher over his head, stretching Piers into an awkward position, his back writhing against the curve of his pack. The dragon eyed him with coveting glee, and with strong legs, he pushed his waist in between Piers and rutted once to showcase his dominance.

Piers held his breath to stifle a moan, and he tried to combat his pained expression with one of defiance. But, Raihan saw through his duplicity, and he drove his long nose into the crook of Piers’ neck. Just like in the kitchen, he drew in a long inhale, tickling the soft skin under Piers’ jaw, and the sensation intensified when the warm wetness of Raihan’s tongue slipped across his jugular. Sharp teeth grazed the skin, and a shiver shot across Piers’ spine.

Raihan took the motion as neediness, and he groaned in response. Piers gritted his teeth as his dominant’s tongue explored more flesh, drawing slick lines across the bone and up his cheek. Raihan rutted again, and Piers was unable to silence his moan this time. He felt Raihan’s lips pull in an arrogant smile, and he resumed his pleasure with more hunger, nipping, sucking, and grinding. Piers buckled under the honied venom and threw his head back, unable to silence his embarrassing cries of pain and need.

Raihan quickened his pace, his huffing drowning out the sounds of the meadow, and Piers became highly aware of the length digging into his thigh. Against his willpower, his face flushed in heat. The dragon was ready to mate, and a skin-breaking nip on the divot of his collarbone pushed his desire aside. He needed to distract Raihan. If he could somehow topple the man over, blunder him in some way, he may be able to retrieve his Obstagoon or even his tactical knife if the other wasn’t readily available.

He squirmed and squeezed his thighs against Raihan’s waist, hoping to slow the thrusting. But, the dragon seemed unaware of the pressure, and he continued to press into Piers without a hitch. Physicality wouldn’t help, and he lifted his head to try and catch Raihan’s attention. “H-how did you find me?” Fuck, even in his deception he sounded needy.

Raihan paused, moving to hover over the other. His eyes were veiled in lust and slight annoyance, and his grin turned derisive. “You made it easy,” Raihan replied, his voice husky. Considering the end of the conversation, he bent down again to resume his fervor.

“You were spying on me.”

“ _No_ ,” Raihan sang, grinding his hips into him further. “You made the mistake of entering my territory. I felt you here.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Raihan growled his annoyance, and he locked Piers’ hands in one of his own. His free hand gripped at Piers’ hair, yanking his head back to expose his throat. A sullied, defeated groan escaped Piers’ lips, and a rumble rocked through Raihan’s chest. He spit on his neck and ran his teeth over the saliva. Through the lusty haze, Piers realized that dragon wasn’t enacting a fetish so much as preparing him for his mark, and Piers struggled against Raihan’s grip.

“Stop yer squirming, Piers,” Raihan growled. “I’ll miss the spot, and it will hurt worse.”

“Kind of you to think of my comfort, but would you please let me take off this bloody backpack before my spine snaps?”

Raihan raised up, electric eyes surveying his face. The seconds dragged, and the intensity of his stare made Piers’ heart skip. _Pathetic_. He was undeniably pathetic for the dragon, and Raihan’s ego was eating it up. He licked at his teeth and without a warning, he flipped Piers onto his stomach and lifted his hips up. “Only doin’ this because you look so damn temptin’, and I don’t think I can say no to ya.”

He roughly pulled Piers’ arms through the straps and carelessly slung the pack aside. As if the world slowed, Piers watched as the pack capsized, and Obstagoon’s dusk ball rolled within arm’s reach. Tension loomed in the air, and his heart skipped. If he could just out speed Raihan, he’d be able to save himself. He could feel Raihan dive toward the ball, but somehow, Piers beat him to it. He pressed the front button, and Obstagoon manifested, his black lips sneering.

But, at the sight of Raihan and Piers, his snarl faded, and he swiveled his head back and forth, confusion painting his monochromatic face. Piers could see him trying to work out what was unfolding between his master and a familiar face, but to Piers’ relief, the Obstagoon took a defiant stance, crossing his arms over his chest and displaying his rows of wicked teeth toward Raihan.

Piers scrambled from his embarrassing position and took shelter behind the weasel. He avoided Raihan’s gaze for as long as he could muster, but the silence was intimidating. He snuck a glance, surprised to see a thick blush and a pained, confused expression. It was almost as if Raihan was pleading, and Piers’ heart fluttered wildly. Why was he feeling like this? He won their first match. He should be elated, but he kept his face stoic as Raihan sat back on his heels. Obstagoon snarled, daring the dragon to make a move.

But the game had ended. Raihan withered under his defeat, his once large grin nothing more than a pressed line. Piers could no longer retain his ruse, and he turned away to gather his things. He was quiet, words locked behind his lips, but finally, he managed a soft question. “How did you really find me, Raihan?”

Raihan was quick to answer. “Like I said. I could feel you here.”

Piers zipped his pack shut. “You keep sayin’ things like that, expecting me to know what it means.”

He turned back to the dragon when there was a long silence. Raihan was turned toward the forest, chin in his palm. In a different circumstance, Piers might have smiled, even chuckled, at the childish behavior, but he cleared his throat, wanting an explanation.

Raihan shot him a dark glance before turning his attention back to the trees. “I dunno. It’s hard to explain. Because I’m the head dragon in Galar, I get free reign on territory, and it stretches pretty far into the Wild. I know everythin’ that happens in my territory. Call it dragon magic, if you will, and because you…have this hold on me, I was able to sense you, kinda like a faraway lighthouse when I’m strugglin’ on a ship.”

“Oh.” Piers was unsure on how to respond, and frankly, he wasn’t sure what he expected in terms of a confession. Nevertheless, he slipped back into his pack and turned toward the forest. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

He heard Raihan shift, and his heart dropped when Raihan strode closer. Obstagoon roared one last warning, and Raihan stopped. His expression was grim, yet determined, and Piers searched his face for answers. Raihan made him wait and then whispered, “I won’t either.”

Piers shuddered at the response, and he turned away again to focus on the dropping sun. He pointed toward it. “If you love me, or whatever this is, you will wait until nightfall to begin again.”

Raihan opened his mouth to retort, but out of the corner of his eye, Piers saw him nod curtly. He called to Obstagoon, who clacked his jaws at Raihan before taking his master’s flank. Raihan chuckled disdainfully. “Make it more of a challenge next time, ‘kay?”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” Piers muttered as he and Obstagoon ambled into the trees.


	4. AUTHOR UPDATE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick check-in.

So, I am sweating. I thought the last chapter was too long, but chapter four might actually have to be broken up into another one. It's coming y'all, I promise. I know these types of chapters are not necessary, but I wanted to write one anyway, considering I came back to 100 kudos and even more bookmarks. I am so thrilled with the reception I am getting with this fic, and I never expected it, if I'm being honest. So many thanks and love. I also gave up on kinktober to solely focus on writing this fic.

Really, I wanted to post this for aesthetics purposes (and because I need a break and I'm simping over my own shit like a nerd) because I made a little "soundtrack" list and wanted to share it with y'all, and some artwork vibes. So, enjoy this while I bust my nuts to get out chapter four (and honestly chapter five too).

Wanna see what gives me ideas for this? Well, it was a mix between [this](https://twitter.com/dusonglover/status/1220458177105485838?s=20) \+ [this](https://twitter.com/rioru_v_v/status/1302393621329534979?s=20) \+ [especially this one ](https://twitter.com/0wa0123/status/1299307931427418115?s=20) \+ listening to Bad Things by Jace Everett 

The song list includes:

ocean eyes - Billie Eilish  
Play Date - Melanie Martinez  
Ribs - Lorde  
Endless Love - Lionel Richie + Diana Oss  
Somewhere, Someday - *NSYNC  
Wicked Game - Chris Isaak  
Adorn - Miguel

Follow me on twitter @liamnii_san if you wanna chat with me. I do share a lot of nsfw images, so keep that in mind if you want to. 


	5. Heartless (I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Piers is pretty emotional in this one, but wouldn't you be too if you were exhausted and a weirdo with sharp fangs was stalking you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!: Hey, so at the beginning, there is a slight mention of Piers being heckled about wearing a dress. Heads up. Nothing in full detail but thought I should say something just in case? I really need to update the tags but I'll do that at another time.
> 
> Anyway. This chapter was cut into three different parts because it was that fucking long, and so I just have to finish up the final bits and edit the other two parts. Fingers crossed I can post both of them by Wednesday? We will see. Just got back from vacation so I'm rusty.
> 
> Also, everyone's comments are just so BEAUTIFUL AND I CRY EVERYTIM. frfr yall are pushing me to get faster to the end and thank you for everyone sticking with me this far, even tho I'm slow. But, I digress and I'll shut up now so enjoy part one <3

_Piers strutted from behind the curtains. The echo of his blocky, leather heels ticked ominously, amplified by the stark silence of the crowd before him. Their faces were pitched, bleared together within a singular void of cold, blank expressions, and the warm lighting struck his skin, erupting the pores into a flurry of sweat and embarrassment._

_He had been here before, but that was many years ago. Yet, just like then, the crowd greeted him with the same distant suspicion, the same condemnation sweltering in their eyes. Piers glanced toward his feet, and his heart stopped when he noticed his lace and leather outfit. At that moment, he knew he was dreaming, and it was slowly dissolving into a nightmare._

_Shortly after his first debut as an artist, he had burned this particular dress, vividly remembering the jeering from a large group of intoxicated men. Their discrimination had pricked him from the inside out, until he lost sight of himself. Until there was nothing left for him to hold onto. He had burned everything that they hated about him, and in turn, he hated himself._

_He picked up his gaze, scouring the crowd for them, but they were lost within the vacant stares. Slowly, carefully, he positioned himself behind the microphone at the edge of the stage. The lights sharpened, blinding him further, and he waited for roaring laughter or heckling verses. But, to his chagrin, the crowd remained silent._

_With a trembling hand, he gripped the stand and stepped a fracture closer to the mic. He needed the silence to end, and he opened his mouth to sing. But his voice was inhibited._

_He closed his eyes and tried to belt another tune. Again, nothing._

_Tears streamed down his cheeks, and he shook. He was afraid of what they thought and what they would say later. Would they judge him on his choice of clothes? Or would it be his failure?_

_He peeked through his lashes to see them trickling away toward the exit, and his breath hitched. Being ignored was more defeating than being chastised, and his grip on the stand tightened until his knuckles turned white. No matter what he tried to say, his words were locked in his throat, and he collapsed to his knees, desperately watching as everyone filtered out._

_Everyone besides one._

_He wiped away his tears, gasping when his vision cleared. Raihan was standing in the middle of the venue, his face unreadable. The two locked eyes, and as if cued by command, Raihan approached with cautious steps, almost as if he were fearful. Of what, Piers was unsure, and he watched him with a reticent stillness._

_He expected Raihan to climb onstage, to assert his waking-life dominance, but to Piers' surprise, the other man paused at the lip. Even with Raihan’s incredulous height, the man craned his neck to catch Piers’ gaze, and for a moment, the world stilled. Suddenly, Raihan smiled, and Piers recoiled._

_Yet, the other man’s teeth were normal. No fangs, no wickedness. The usual lusty authority in his blues was replaced with geniality and reserve. His skin appeared softer than his real-life counterpart, and Piers ran his gaze over Raihan’s cheeks, curious against the curve. In a way, Raihan looked…well, cute. Too cute, and Piers’ cheeks smoldered._

_Was this the Raihan Piers wanted to see? Or was this something else more internally devilish?_

_Raihan winked, ripping Piers from his thoughts. Oddly enough, he winked back, and Raihan’s grin widened. He reached out a large hand toward Piers, flicking his wrist as if beckoning him. Piers tilted his head, frowning as Raihan repeated the motion. “Sing for me.”_

_Piers shuddered against the too loud echo, but he kept his face placid. He tried replying, but just as before, his words were caught. Raihan’s smile softened, and he flipped over his hand. Piers raised his brows, confused at first, but his body reacted, somehow knowing what to do. He crawled closer to the edge of the stage, and he reached out his hand, trailing delicate fingers across the flat of Raihan’s palm._

_Arriving at the end of Raihan’s fingertips, he mirrored Raihan’s hand, palm up, and Raihan mimicked the same motions of tracing his digits across Piers. The sensation left behind was startling, tickling at each nerve, and Piers shocked himself by giggling. The sound rang like small bells, and he pulled his hand back, putting it over his mouth._

_“You’re beautiful, Piers.”_

_Piers lowered his hand in disbelief. In reality, he was fully aware of Raihan’s limerence, but Piers wasn’t sure what the dragon found beautiful in him. The dress felt tighter across his chest as he heaved in breaths. Nervously, he tugged at the hem, fumbling with the lace that decorated the bottom, and the blush crept further into his neck. “I’m…b-beautiful?”_

_“Stunnin’.”_

_Piers' heart stopped, and he dropped his gaze. The stage below him melted, replacing lacquered wood with emerald ryegrass and various shades of primrose. The blooms sprouted between his legs, tickling his bare skin. The stage lights were replaced with a hazy glow as the sun beamed through thick humidity, transforming his new surroundings into something lucid and dreamy. Awestruck, he returned his focus on Raihan, interested in knowing his reaction, but unbeknownst to him, the other man had moved closer._

_He paused, warily waiting for Raihan to make his next move, but the other man seemed perplexed, as if biding time. Piers swallowed when Raihan’s warm breath hit his face, and he notated the lingering scents of cinnamon and ash. He furrowed his brow. When he could no longer stand the tension, he said Raihan’s name, barely audible even to himself._

_Raihan smiled, and Piers faltered at the return of his fangs. Their slender points pushed past his lips, and despite their primeval appearance, Piers was more fascinated than concerned. He stayed rooted as Raihan plucked a bright red flower from the bunch between his knees and then pushed a thick lock of hair behind Piers’ ear. Raihan secured the strands with the bloom, and surely and softly, he placed his hand on Piers’ shoulder, pushing him into the earth below._

_Piers followed his lead without restraint, and with wide eyes, he watched as Raihan hovered over him, placing both arms on either side of his head. The two men were quiet, fervently searching each other’s face for the next tension breaker; yet, Raihan took his leap by placing a delicate kiss on Piers’ forehead. Mechanically, Piers clutched at his neck, shielding the skin with his fingers._

_He doubted they could hold against a bite from Raihan, but the other man appeared to be unaware of Piers’ cautions. He leisurely trailed his kisses across the bridge of his nose, traversing his cheekbone, and he stopped to gently nuzzled his nose against Piers’ temple. Piers was unable to contain his laughter all the while, feeling right stupid, and Raihan pressed into him harder, chuckling contentedly. When he spoke, his voice was low and heavy. “Have faith in me and what I can do for you, Piers. Please. I love you.”_

_Piers quieted and his grip against his neck tightened. “Don’t.”_

_Raihan ignored him and moved lower. Piers sighed as Raihan’s lips brushed against his, faint and intoxicating. “I love you,” he repeated, softer this time, and he bent further down to work his lips against Piers. Unable to control himself, Piers kissed back, melting into Raihan’s motions, savoring the danger as Raihan’s fangs grazed his bottom lip. He groaned when the other man trickled one of his hands under his skirt. His fingers were calloused and strong, snaking up, up, up, and Piers shut his eyes in bliss._

_Raihan swept his tongue across Piers’ lips, requesting access, and Piers parted them without hesitation. Raihan jumped at the opportunity and licked further into his mouth, releasing a velvety moan at the taste. Piers released his neck and wrapped his arms around Raihan’s torso, clawing at the space between his well-sculpted shoulders. The two molded into each other, dreamily kissing and touching, and when they parted, they were left breathless._

_Raihan was the first to catch his, and he continued his mouthy exploration down Piers’ neck and chest, pausing at the space above his heart. Piers opened his eyes to watch curiously, his ribs rising and falling with anticipation, and Raihan cupped his ass, giving it a tight squeeze. “When you wake up, talk to me, ‘kay?”_

_But before Piers could respond, Raihan opened his mouth in a display of fangs, and Piers cried out when they pierced his heart._

* * *

Piers thrashed awake. His hands automatically flew under his shirt, frantically searching for any punctures, but when he could find none, his arms dropped listlessly to his side. How pathetic.

“Jus’ a dream,” he muttered to himself as if he needed the extra clarity. His breathing slowed, and he pushed out from under his sleeping bag, curling it up and placing it near his pack. Sometime during the night, the storm clouds had dissipated, and the morning light dappled across the forest floor and pleasantly heated his skin.

The castle and its chill seemed so far away, even though he figured his pressing ground between his current location and Mac Con Uladh was poignant. He had trudged through most of the evening and well into the night, only stopping when his legs and feet could no longer handle the ache. He had returned his Obstagoon when the poor beast heaved over a log, spent with exhaustion, and he, himself, collapsed the moment he rolled out his bedding. Still now, his thighs were throbbing from overexertion, but the welcoming break of the sun was enough to allow him some well-needed compos mentis. It was as if the light sparked some within himself.

Though, he knew that lingering in one place for too long would spell certain doom, but for now, he’d focus on his morning tasks. While he slowly dug into a protein bar, he opened his Rotom Phone to check the time. The little pokemon buzzed excitedly, slipping through his fingers and flittering around with staticky haste. Piers caught it in his hands, where he saw it conjured up an onscreen arrow to point out the solid ‘x’ over the data coverage signal.

He sighed. “Seems like we are in the middle of nowhere, hm?”

The Rotom replied the best it could, flashing between a mixed emotion of intense scrutiny and concern. Nevertheless, Piers checked the time and fiddled with the map. Luckily, the Rotom could detect whatever satellite data it could muster, and Piers pinched and pulled at the screen, trying to pinpoint his location.

While he was relatively close to the outskirts of Turffield, the trek would still be tedious. He was no man of nature, but he suspected at least a full day’s walk. Sighing again, he exited out of the map app and released the Rotom. “Set a fifteen-minute timer, love,” he commanded, and the Rotom twirled happily. Piers’ request appeared on the screen.

Piers briskly went to work, starting with his hair. The teeth of his brush caught often, but with the help from his dry shampoo and detangling spray, he was able to push through the strands without trouble. He fluffed his tresses before throwing it back into a low bun and capping it with his morpeko hat. Next, he smoked a cigarette as he changed into a fresh pair of underwear and socks, and when he finished his last drag, he discarded the butt into an empty pocket of his pack and laced up his boots. He brushed his teeth and skipped rinsing with the water. Despite refilling the previous evening, he wasn’t sure when he’d pass another source.

He slung the pack over his shoulders and took a modest sip from his canteen, eyeing his allotted time. While he still had three minutes to spare, he figured that moving as soon as possible would be in his best interest. He hoped that he could reach Turffield before nightfall, but with Raihan trailing him, there was no telling if he would be successful. Hell, the man could even be spying on him right now.

_When you wake up, talk to me, ‘kay?_

Piers glanced over his shoulder. Besides a flock of pidove picking at fallen leaves, he was alone, at least to his knowledge, and he shook his head to free his mind. But the hypnotic words swirled heavily over him. What could Raihan want that his dream-self dared to direct him?

Not that he could do anything to sedate his curiosity. His Rotom Phone was out of reach for a signal, and Piers could only speculate on when it would return. He motioned for the little orange computer to come near, and he turned off his timer and stuck the creature into his back pocket. He set off further into the forest.

Hours passed, and Piers periodically stopped replenish his thirst and check his phone and the map. The signal was still lost well into midday, and he became increasingly agitated. The sun's previous gentleness was no longer welcomed, and the intensity burned into his cheeks and nose. His soles ached, and the pressure of exhaustion folded him forward. He gritted his teeth against the discomfort in his back, hooking his thumbs into the straps of his pack to alleviate some of the weight. But no matter how many times he shifted the bloody thing, the pain would only fade for a few short seconds before returning at full force.

All the while, Raihan stayed in the back of his mind, and eventually, he cracked. He threw his pack from his back and filtered out a slew of loud curses before dropping to his knees. He slumped forward, pressing his face into the musky, dead leaves and closed his eyes. If Raihan wanted him, he could have him.

He laid there for an insurmountable amount of time, childishly pouting and wishing for death. Suddenly, a sharp, trilling ding caused him to stir, and his eyes popped open to find his Rotom Phone swaying above him. He flipped over on his back, squinting against the sun, and drew the phone nearer.

_One signal bar!_

He swiped through a rush of notifications ecstatically. A few texts from Marnie. Missed calls from his agent. Indications of liked posts on his social media, and strangely, an email from the taxi driver that took him to Stony. He opened the email curiously, smiling at the offer of a free ride. If only they could meet him here.

Another ding brought his attention to his newest notification, and his heart stuttered. _Raihan._

He quickly tapped on it, reading the two simple words repeatedly as if they were written in another language.

_Raihan: hey baby_

Piers bit his lip to suppress a scream.

_Piers: what do you want_

He gripped at his phone, expecting a quick reply, but his text remained unread. Piers assumed Raihan was trapped somewhere in the dead zone, and that comforted him slightly. While farfetched and not necessarily accurate, he would be able to calculate how far ahead he was when Raihan did replied. Taking that idea as initiative, Piers heaved himself from the ground, and with his newfound energy, he trekked through the forest with longer, more determined strides.

Further on, another signal bar was caught, and his Rotom Phone chirped merrily, pointing to it with its glitching arrow. Piers allowed himself a brief rest when he came across a narrow stream carving through the forest, filling up his canteen and sanitizing it with his iodine. While he waited for the drops to settle, he messaged his agent, vaguely explaining his absence, and then returned Marnie’s texts.

_Marnie: You winnin, bro?_

_Marnie: hey thinkin bout you. wya?_

_Marnie: did you die?_

_Piers: not dead yet. just been in the middle of nowhere._

Her response was immediate.

_Marnie: oh good. was about to commit murder_

_Piers: don’t count me out just yet, sis. i’ll see you in a few days. i got to get moving again_

_Marnie: mm i still might commit murder but love ya and ill see ya soon. dont feel like ya cant come home ya know?_

_Piers: heh, might have to take you up on that offer soon. need a shower real bad. love ya too sis and hug those striped leeches for me_

A bittersweet smirk tugged at his lips as he imagined Marnie snuggling up to Gene and Ozzy, of their confused yet grateful faces, and he wondered what she would be having for dinner tonight. Despite being nine years his junior, Marnie was plucky, even well before their parents died, and though part of him worried for her, he knew that she could manage herself. Yet, he couldn’t shake his uneasiness. Was she lying awake at night, wondering where he was or how he was doing? Even with the two zigzagoons and her morpeko, was she still battling her silent loneliness? The one the siblings suffered together without so much as speaking of it?

The yearning for normality was caustic on his tongue, and he released the Rotom with a defeated huff. It hummed, twitchy eyes curiously watching his face. Piers glanced toward it, their gazes locking together. It whirred and chimed with happiness. Piers honestly felt bad for the poor creature, as he rarely gave it, itself, any attention. Yet, the creature somehow established a personal bond with him. Whether or not the Rotom was programmed to do so, Piers still bit back a hint of shame. “I should probably name you, hm?” he asked it softly, and the Rotom responded with another charged happiness.

After taking a sip from his canteen, he pushed into his pack and set off again. The Rotom bounced along beside him, examining its surroundings with childish wonder. It reminded Piers of his Obstagoon, and he wondered if the weasel was well-rested enough to hike as well. He mentally shook his head. Obstagoon was there for his protection, and he couldn’t push the poor creature into constant guard duty. He’d have to continue virtually alone.

Even in the dwindling daylight, the woods were alight with life. The leaves from last year’s fall crunched under his feet, bringing on scents of weathered decay and earth. The soft breeze shook the skeletal branches, tossing up creaking white noise, and somewhere, a gritty bark echoed through the oaks. In retrospect, the ambiance was exquisite, but Piers found difficulty relishing in the untamed wild.

Every popping branch or muted whistle from the passing wind had him snapping his gaze over his shoulder. Unlike his short stay in the castle, he had no plans on escape, and should he need to run, he’d hope that the dizzying shroud of trunks would be enough of a safeguard. Yet, something mystical about the other man haunted him.

The territory comments were strange, albeit expected. Piers had been stupid to believe that being close wouldn’t come with consequences, but what did Raihan mean by the lighthouse comment? What sort of magic did he possess that Piers and the rest of the populace were not privy to?

He focused on his Rotom, who had found friends in two dancing butterfree. He whistled toward it, and it waved to the insects before diving to meet Piers. “Do me a favor, mate, and pull up the map for me again.”

The Rotom turned its screen toward Piers and did as it was commanded. Figuring Piers’ next request, it pinched and pulled the screen, pointing its arrow toward Turffield. Piers’ heart sank at the many miles he had left before he breached the tree line, and he knew that making it to the town would be impossible before sunset. He calculated the distance in his head, and he figured that if he stopped now and woke up at dawn, he’d make it to the hills by mid-morning.

He shooed the Rotom away and dropped his pack next to a cluster of bushes. He checked the area for any signs of hallows or dens, and when he was satisfied no wild creature would approach him with territory issues, he made camp. He shrugged out of his thick coat, welcoming the rush of cool air, and bunched it to make a make-shift pillow. He figured that with the insulation of the trees and the bushes, he’d be a bit warmer tonight, and he’d slip into the confines of his sack.

It would be a risky move, but even Raihan, with all his odd power, couldn’t possibly see in the dark. It was wishful thinking, of course, but he had yet to receive a text from him. If Piers were correct, Raihan would have to have stopped early in his journey into the woods, and surely, whatever lingered regarding Piers’ beacon, for lack of a better word, would have faded away. To make matters even more fortunate, Raihan was taking the survivalist route. Piers did not see him with a travel bag, and there was no way he was carrying anything other than his phone and wallet.

He pulled off his cap and unraveled his hair, allowing the waves to cascade down his shoulders. Should the temperature drop within the night, Piers would tuck further into his sleeping bag. Obstagoon would be too bulky within his small space, but he retrieved the dusk ball from his pack just in case. He placed it near his make-shift pillow.

His stomach clenched in hunger, and he unloaded his pocket of food. Protein bars were losing their edge, and the few handfuls of trail mix did not sedate the rumbling in his gut. Once he reached Turffield, he’d brave one of the local restaurants, and with spring, he may be lucky in nabbing some of the first harvests. Though the latter seemed unlikely, as the frost still crept in the night, and if anything were at the stalls, it would be radishes or cabbage. Both disgusting choices, but anything was better than nothing.

When he wolfed through the pack of his toaster treats, he glowered and settled for another protein bar. He chewed it slowly as he watched his Rotom continue its curious analysis of their surroundings. Boredom settled in, just as it had at the castle, and he wondered if the creature would have enough signal to at least buffer through a show. He thought the better of it. Even if it could manage one episode, he knew the thing would knock out halfway through, battery depleted after a long day of wonderment and constant screen time. He needed it somewhat active to wake him up on time.

He took another bite of his protein bar. “Do you want a name?”

The Rotom stopped examining a leaf and stared at him for a moment, pondering the question. Then it smiled. Piers shoved the rest of his food in his mouth as he conjured up a list of names. Sparky or Dexter was too cliché, and he briefly thought about calling it Dynamo. But, it seemed too closely related to Dynamax, and there was nothing worse than that.

He clicked his tongue, watching as the Rotom took a few pictures of the leaf it was looking at earlier. He whistled to get its attention. “What about the name Leif? Like L-E-I-F?”

The Rotom perked up, rolling its staticky, blue eyes in thought. Then it let out a low _brrrrrr_ , followed by a deep, robotic voice. “ _Leif: A male given name from old Galarian origins. Meanings of beloved, heir, descendent. Related names: Elof, Olaf._ ”

“That’s nice. Do you like Leif?”

The Rotom rolled its eyes again and grinned. It went back to taking pictures of its leaf.

Taking that as a yes, Piers laid back, weaving his fingers through his hair. A bruised blackness was engulfing the sky, and the last bit of sun stretched long shadows onto the trees, making them appear as if they simultaneously caught fire and charred. It was morbidly beautiful, and the sight of it nearly made him tear up; though, he wasn’t sure if it was the beauty so much as the exhaustion that gripped him. He shimmied into his sleeping bag and turned to his side, closing his eyes. Immediately, the fatigue took him under.

He felt as if he wasn’t asleep for long when he woke to the shrill sound of a notification. Around him, the forest was black, and a waxy moon dangled above. He rolled over, squinting his eyes toward the blinding light of Leif. He plucked it out of the air and brought the screen in closer, and when his eyes adjusted to the brightness, his heart stopped.

Raihan had texted him back, and he pushed himself up.

_Raihan: why’d ya want to take this bloody route, mate? fuckin sucks. damn near busted my arse tryin to get down a cliff_

Piers pressed Leif to his chest, finding it hard to breathe. He knew Raihan had to be near. He hadn’t walked far from the dead zone, and it was apparent that Raihan was traveling into the night. He pushed the Rotom back and bit his lip.

“Cliff?” he whispered. Piers could not recall passing any, and his heart started again. Wherever Raihan was, his trail led him elsewhere, and Piers could use it to his advantage. He pulled up the map again, trying to pinpoint any indications of descending hills or formations, but all notable locations, sans rivers and streams, were unnamed. Despite the unknown, Piers settled far into his bag, shielding his head and Leif’s light.

_Piers: I had no issue getting down it. seems to me that you are pushing yourself too hard_

Piers bit harder into his lip, anticipating the next response.

_Raihan: wow you’re up! wasn’t expectin a message from ya yet. wyd mate?_

_Piers: please do not call me that_

_Raihan: heh touchy but you didn’t answer my question_

_Piers: well its safe to assume I’m running away from you_

_Raihan:_ 🤣 _ya got me there, mate.. hold on tho. i’m sendin ya a pic ive been meaning to send ya all day_

Piers’ brow furrowed and gripped Leif tighter. It whirred curiously, but he ignored it, staring intently at the screen. Whatever he believed Raihan was going to send hindered in comparison to the reality, and at the whoosh of the image sound, Piers jaw dropped.

The dragon had faced the camera to himself, elevated upwards to showcase the full view of his naked body. Every muscle in his core was highlighted by the flash of his camera, or perhaps by the light source, as it was apparent his selfie was taken prior to his first hunt. To save grace, Raihan’s hand was cupped over his crotch, but Piers could easily see the curve of his manhood before it was ultimately hidden by Raihan’s large hand. He shuddered and nearly dropped Leif, but not before catching a familiar sight around Raihan’s neck. A frigid realization overtook his nerves, causing his body to shake violently, and it took him a few times to type out his response.

_Piers: is that MY FUCKING NECKLACE???????_

_Raihan: u pissed?_

_Piers: am I pissed????? Raihan where the BLOODY HELL DID YOU GET THAT_

_Raihan: hehe guess_

Piers growled, mind clouding in anger. He winced as he bit further into his lip, tasting blood, and in his haze, he pressed the call button. Raihan answered in the first ring.

“Yeah, you’re pissed, aren’t ya?”

Piers huffed. He opened and closed his mouth, unable to find the best choice in words, and he felt like he was stuck in his dream, albeit worse. He imagined Raihan smiling on the other side, triumphant and cheery, and maybe this was what exactly he wanted. Breaking Piers down until he gave up, and he was easy prey. He had seen a few nature shows to know that the predator locked on to the weakest, and surely dragons, human ones or not, were not saintly enough to do differently. And Piers was stupid enough to keep falling into his traps, weak, unfit, and textbook prey. Tears began to well in his eyes, and he was afraid if he said anything, his voice would break.

“Piers?” Raihan’s voice sounded distant and blotchy, as if he were speaking through cream. But, it lingered wrong, resonating a softness and care that caused Piers to snap.

The tears he tried to hold back toppled over, and he slapped a hand over his mouth to choke back a sob. _So pathetic! So overly dramatic!_

True to his previous thoughts, his voice quivered, feeble, yet venomous. “Where did you take that bloody picture, Raihan? Where did you get that necklace?”

There was a pause, and then Raihan whispered, “It’s still at ya place, don’t you worry yerself, mate.”

“I said stop calling me that!”

“You are my mate, Piers. Whether you want to believe it or not,” Raihan replied with a matter-of-fact tone. He paused again, but when he spoke, his voice was tender. “If it will make you feel any better-”

“Was Marnie there!?”

“No, Piers. Hush, I’ll explain. Please stop cryin’.”

Piers’ breath hitched, and he pushed Leif away, pressing his face into his hands. He was terrified, exhausted, violated. Raihan remained quiet as Piers continued to weep angrily. He hated himself for breaking, especially showcasing his vulnerability to the one set on hurting him. But, he was unable to stop, and for a moment, he forgot about Raihan. Tears streaked across his fingers and dripped down the sides of his face. After a few minutes, Piers had no more tears to shed, and he wiped his eyes, glancing over to see that Raihan was still waiting on the other line. He sniffed and grabbed Leif again, limply bringing him to his ear. “You’re already doin’ so much to my nerves, Rai. Why would you do this to me?”

The silence was excruciating, and Piers was acutely aware of the blood rushing through his ears. He hated it, and he placed his free hand on his mouth, afraid that he would cry again if Raihan didn’t speak. Raihan must have sensed this, and he let out a low groan. “’M so sorry, Piers. I wasn’t expectin’ you to…well, to cry, I guess.”

“You’re fuckin’ jokin’,” Piers replied through his fingers.

“Marnie was no’ there. Promise on my gran on that,” Raihan quipped. “Can I explain myself?”

Piers nodded slowly despite knowing Raihan couldn’t see him. He heard Raihan sigh heavily. “I needed your scent.”

“My scent?”

“Yeah. Your scent, you know? The smell of you.”

“I know what a scent is, Raihan, but for what? Are you, like, part boltund?”

“Heh, funny, mate. Oops, I won’t call ya that for the rest of the call, ‘kay?” Raihan chuckled, but Piers remained silent. “Yeah. Well, ‘m sorry for breakin’ into ya flat, but I have a pretty strong nose. And it only gets stronger durin’ my matin’ week.”

“Okay?”

“It means that I can track who I want to mate easier.”

Piers removed his hand and knitted his eyebrows. “You’ve done this before?”

Raihan laughed nervously. “Aye, but no’ to this degree. When I said you’d be mine and I’d be yours, I wasn’t lyin’ to you. You’ll be the only one I mark, but anyway. I got your scent to find ya faster, but you jus’ so happened to be hidin’ in my territory. And like I said yesterday, you were like a lighthouse. Even without doin’ what I did, I would’ve found ya if I had just started in the Hills.”

“I don’t understand.”

“O’course,” Raihan replied. “It’s hard to explain. Just know that _you_ bein' in my territory will never benefit _you_. I’ll find you immediately.”

“So, how far does your territory reach?”

“Heh, when you officially get my mark, you’ll know.” Raihan laughed as if he told a hilarious joke. “Um, but yeah. I got…excited when I went into your room. You smell so bloody good, Piers. Sorry again, but I kinda had some fun on your bed.”

“What the fuck.”

Raihan exhaled sharply. “I jus' can’t get you out of my mind, and it’s been drivin’ me absolutely mad. I still taste you on my tongue, and I haven’t slept since the night before I came lookin’ for ya.”

Warmth crept up Piers' neck, and shellshocked, he twisted to his side to curl into a ball. “Poor thing. And my necklace?”

“I can’t tell ya why I put on ya fancy collar. Felt kinda good, though, and I'm thinkin' about gettin' one.”

Piers sighed. “Ain’t a collar. I’m tired, Raihan. I’m goin’ to sleep now. And if I even hear of you goin’ near my place again, I’ll stab you.”

Raihan guffawed, causing Piers to flinch and push Leif away. He returned it to his ear when he heard Raihan say his name. “Oi, before you hang up…what did you think about that picture, truly?”

“Goodbye.”

Piers ended the call before Raihan could respond, and he released Leif. The pokemon turned around to smile genuinely at him, and Piers forced one back. The orange creature purred happily and shut off its screen, throwing the two in the dark. Piers closed his eyes and pulled his coat over his head. “Leif. Set an alarm for six.”


	6. Heartless (II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Piers gets some help, but since it's Piers he has to be a baby about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hopefully i can be faster with part three of this little whirlwind of a chapter set 
> 
> i really do be acting like I'm trying to get it published. took me forever to edit it and write the way i wanted it to go
> 
> also i tried my best with Scottish Milo and googled Scottish slang so apologies are in order if he just sounds bad lol

Piers scowled as daylight breached the horizon.

Sleeping had been a bust, if not an understatement. He had spent hours after his phone call with Raihan tossing about; first, striving for peace of mind, and then, fighting for warmth. As the wee hours crept forward, the temperature plummeted to the point where he found it difficult to breathe and think, and all the heat from his embarrassing outburst did little to fend off the early spring frigidness.

Around hour three, the frost settled in and with it, snow. A fine layer coated the willowy trees and caked over the nearby stream. Ice popped with the undertow, and all the vibrant life from before had stilled. Yet the quiet was madness. Piers shifted up, wrapped his sleeping bag over his head, and clutched his knees to his chest. After a moment, he nodded off, only to wake hazily to see he had slept for a few minutes, and figuring it too close to his alarm, he decided it best to stay awake.

When the tip of the sun was visible through the shroud of trees, Piers groaned again. He knew there was no sense in wallowing, especially with Turffield and its warm cafés a half a day’s walk, but the journey seemed damn near impossible. Piers was no stranger to exhaustion and sleepless nights, but he doubted he had ever had a morning quite like this.

Every inch of his body ached. Each shocking inhale stung his lungs, and his legs throbbed, overexerted from escaping Raihan and the distancing miles he achieved yesterday. His stomach begged for anything other than trail mix or protein bars, and he sedated it somewhat with his pack of toaster treats. But the richness of the sugar caused him to throw it up shortly afterward. He hopelessly stared at his sick before brushing snow over it, and he sunk back into his cocoon.

Was he dying? Or just being overdramatic. It was hard to tell at this point.

The memory of him bawling over the phone soured his mind and swirled his empty stomach into a pit of anxiety and disgust. He had broken his first rule of the hunt: never show weakness, never show fear. Despite Raihan’s gentle response to his crying, he wouldn’t be surprised if the other man saw this as a windfall, and Piers wanted to knock himself considering the countless self-pep talks stating he wouldn’t be bested.

He reached for his choker out of habit, but when he caught air, he dropped his arm back to his knees.

Yes, maybe Raihan’s strength lied with strategy and ferocity, but Piers was just as intense when he needed to be. He wouldn’t have lasted as long as he did in Spikemuth without his hidden moxie; even more so when grouped together with the dragon prince and the former champion in preliminary battles.

He twisted his mouth, pondering things over. In retrospect, using last night’s fear could possibly work in his favor. Raihan was a hound for weakness, and Piers filtered through his list of battles between him and the other man. In most cases, his losses were due to break in wit, and when he was flustered, he made mistakes and the dragon would capitalize on it. When Piers did win on those rare occasions, he had outwitted him by a luck of weaving traps, and Raihan would easily fall for them, lost in his own intensity to win.

A spark moved up Piers’ spine, and he smirked. If maybe he started viewing this mating ritual as a multi-day battle and if he played each piece right, he could pull through. Hell, he could even try to weasel out benefits of his own, like precious acres of Raihan’s territory. He wouldn’t need it, of course, but it would be a face-shoving commemoration of beating him in his own game.

Leif buzzed nearby, pulling Piers from his thoughts. It flew into his hands, and his lips fell.

_Raihan_.

He wondered if the scent thing worked on the mind too, but pushing away the absurdity, he opened it up, immediately regretting doing so. The selfie, in all its morbid and desperate glory, was still there. If the context wasn’t so stark, Piers might have fancied saving it. Whether for black mail or for his own personal viewing would be a question for another day. Raihan knew his angles perfectly, and daresay Piers didn’t find him interesting in a choker.

He rolled his eyes at himself and moved down to the text.

_Raihan: bloody cold this morning, eh? need me to come warm you up_

_Piers: i think you’ve done enough of that already…_

_Raihan: :’) wym_

_Piers: don’t worry about it_

_Raihan: no no i wanna know! baby, whats on your mind rn?_

_Piers: i truly don’t think you deserve to know_

_Raihan: please???_

Piers stared hesitantly at Raihan’s follow up sticker of a chipper, wiggling goomy. His eyes traced the whimsical curve of its mouth, finding similarities in Raihan’s lips, and the innocence of it made his heart clench. It reminded him of his dream, of Raihan’s soft face and gentle smile. No teeth and no fear, and a blush crept up his neck when he remembered the hungry kisses and fervent hands. He shook his head, pausing a bit longer before sending his response.

_Piers: you_

_Raihan: yeah? what about me, luv?_

Piers tucked closer into his sleeping bag, shielding his face from the creeping sun.

_Piers: …will it hurt? marking me?_

_Raihan: Piers…_

_Raihan: i don’t wanna lie to you but from what i’ve heard from people who have been marked by other dragonfolk, it’s not any fun…but, don’t ya worry yourself. i’ll be there to help ya through it_

_Piers: through it?_

_Raihan: um, from what they said, it burns. like, a whole lot. but, they said it only lasts a minute, and like i said, i won’t let you go through it alone_

Piers shuddered, remembering when dream Raihan drove his fangs into his chest, and he grazed his fingers under his shirt to trace the smooth, unblemished skin over his heart. As if the pain from insertion wouldn’t be enough...

He looked back down at his phone.

_Piers: have you ever thought that maybe dating me first would be the best idea? say ten years later you find someone new, someone more exciting. what happens then?_

_Raihan: not possible. you have been everything i needed from the start. ive told you that. and then when this week is over ill date you according to your standards lol_

Piers typed out his next response, but his thumb hovered over the send button. A chilly wind cut through the fabric of his bag and overcoat, and he shuddered. But, the iciness seemed so far away as he stared at his response, and he swallowed a heavy lump in his throat. Biting the bullet, he hit send.

_Piers: do you love me? for something more than physical gain i mean_

Raihan typed on and off for what seemed like eternity, and with each pulse of the dots, Piers’ heart sank lower and lower. He knew the answer of course, but seeing it with his own eyes was an entirely other story. He swallowed again. He was too exhausted for this shit.

_Raihan: i absolutely adore you but i don’t think saying how i feel over the phone would do much justice. i want to tell you in person_

Piers searched for an answer, but when he couldn’t think of one, he decided to leave Raihan on read. _Stoke the fire_ , he thought, but as the words dissipated, his core felt hallow as if he lost a bit of himself. Strangely, he wondered if he was actually enjoying this, enjoying the overwhelming desire to be wanted and hunted. He shook he head and wiggled out of his sleeping bag, cursing against the cold. Arceus forbid he faltered now, especially so early in the run.

But, he couldn’t shake Raihan’s vague confession. The words seemed half-hearted in their approach, and Piers closed his eyes for a moment to ground himself. He could count the number of people who would vie to be in his position, and they would probably mock him for being stingy and ungrateful.

He shrugged off his coat to slip on his second shirt. It reeked, smelling of Obstagoon’s musk and mold from improper drying, but he was in no situation to be picky. He quickly pulled his coat back on and strapped on his wool-lined leather gloves. After making sure his boots were tied tight, he sighed, pulled up his map, and set off toward Turffield.

* * *

His journey was slower than he predicted, and Leif was finding it hard to keep up with the constant stream of map data. However, Piers knew he was inching closer to the town line when the ground began to round into small, rolling hills, and he pocketed Lief in his bag to give it some well-deserved rest. But even as the morning merged into the early-afternoon, the snow had yet to subside, and the hills were slick with ice. He slipped time and time again, even against the traction of his boots. Each tumble wasted what little energy he had left, and with barely any food in his stomach, he found rising harder each time.

“Raihan is absolutely mad,” Piers muttered after taking a particularly nasty misstep, and unable to find the will to pick himself up, he laced his fingers over his chest and searched the sky. For as far as he could see, a grey overcast had settled over Galar, and while Piers was no expert on weather, he suspected the next few days would be wintry. He wondered how well Raihan would fair in such bleak weather, and he relished on the idea of him suffering alongside Piers.

Piers inhaled a sharp breath. At least the cold allowed him the opportunity to ignore the ache in his belly and the strain on his legs, but he dolefully wished for his bed and for one of Marnie’s hot meals. He wanted to have his two baby goons wiggle themselves into his arms while he failed at writing a new song, and when night fell, he would dress up and have a few shots of Galarian whiskey with the lads at _Sour Mason’s_. Maybe he’d even humor the crowd with a quick, drunken show. He’d forget about the cold…and Raihan.

Especially Raihan.

He closed his eyes and mentally kicked himself for something poetic to weave within himself. He couldn’t forget about Raihan, no matter how hard he tried, and he purposefully ignored the intruding thoughts of their rare times spent together. It was pathetic. He was deplorable for even testing simple waters and allowing three days to make him start viewing the dragon as something worth admiring. Clearly it was just the exhaustion.

Something wet and icy pressed against his face, and he shuddered. Believing it to be heavier flakes, he ignored it until another press was followed by a loud bleat. He popped up to find himself being inspected by three wooloo. The one nearest him prodded his shoulder and began chewing on his coat.

Piers pushed it away. “Stop that!”

The wooloo bleated again, tone unaware than it had done anything wrong, and moved in closer. The other wooloo joined in, surrounding him in a barrage of hay-scented fluff, and though he wasn’t particularly keen on the wooly creatures, their warmth was much welcomed. They nuzzled closer, kicking up the snow and ice to reveal the grasses beneath, and they tucked their hooves under their bodies and settled in.

Piers eyed them curiously. These wooloo were obviously domesticated. No wild wooloo would willingly wander up to a random stranger, and he dug his fingers into the fibers of the one that poked him. His hands struck exactly what he was looking for, and he parted the wool to find a thick, yellow collar wrapped around its neck. He twisted the collar to find a crudely written name etched in dark marker. “Stella, hm?”

He released the wooloo and chuckled. Ever since he put Lief away, he was blind to where he was in accordance to the Turffield tree line, and either these wooloo moseyed far or he was much closer than he expected. Yet, even with him being in his final stretch, his energy was shot, and he twisted on his hip to lay across Stella.

“Baa?”

“Shut it.”

He closed his eyes and stuffed his face further into the rustic scent of the lamb. Just a quick nap and he’d herd the pokey creatures back to their farmer. His breaths fell into rhythm with Stella’s undulating spine. And though the snow made it impossible to fully drop off, he drifted into a bleary trance. His body slacked, yet his senses remained hyperaware. Stella’s snoring was as loud as thunder, but Piers found it strangely comforting. Soon, he was snoring too.

“Aw, lambs. What’cha doin’ oot this way?”

Piers quickly pushed himself off Stella and traces of snow tumbled from his hair into his lap. A burly figure came into view, a shock of summery color against the bright, white world, and Piers pushed the remaining sleep from his eyes with his knuckles. When his vision refocused, the figure solidified, and he was met with the confused expression of Milo.

The two men stared at each other for an uncomfortable amount of time until the farmer tipped his wide-brimmed hat back further on his head and grinned. “Oi, Piers. Maybe I shoulda asked ya tha’ instead. Need help?”

“Aye. Would you, lad? Havin’ a bit of trouble gettin’ up, and your lambs were useless.”

Milo chuffed and moved in closer. He grabbed Piers by the wrist and pulled him up as if he weighed nothing, but Piers was sure he was a lot lighter than the hay bales he rolled every day. He pursed his lips as Milo proceeded to swipe the rest of the snow from his coat and hair. “A bit dreich tae be campin’, is it no’?”

“Long story.”

“Aye, well, special thanks for keepin’ tae lambs from wanderin’ off more, though.” Milo beamed and jerked his head behind him. “Wanna pop in, lad? You look like you could use a bit o’ warmin’ up. I can fix up a kettle.”

“If I’m bein’ honest, I could use somethin’ stronger than tea.”

Milo chortled and placed a wide hand on the small of Piers’ back. “Aye, I might ‘ave something for ya then.”

* * *

Milo had been an overly gracious host, giving him a pair of fleece-lined joggers (that were a hair too short on him), thick, wool socks, and a hefty sweater. He placed Piers’ drenched ones in the wash, and he offered him a hot shower, which Piers took no shame in. While Piers napped in one of Milo’s spare rooms, the farmer finished his chores, hung the laundry, and started on a pot of stew. Piers woke to the robust scents of herbs, but he stayed in the sheets well into the late afternoon.

When he finally did emerge, Piers found the farmer in his kitchen, scrolling through his phone and leaning against the counter near the oven. When he spotted Piers, he beamed and motioned him to the simple kitchen table in the corner, and as promised, a near-finished bottle of whiskey and two small glasses adorned the top.

“Am no’ much of a drinker, but Nessa was right chuffed tae try an’ out-drink me. Poor bird was steamin’ by the second shot, but she kept on wit’ it.” He chuckled and placed his phone aside. “Donnae drink too much before I finish cookin’, though.”

Piers chuckled softly and took his seat. He poured himself a generous amount, and he threw back his shot, shuddering in delight. The cinnamon and oak laced liquor burned as it travelled down his throat, and he smiled at the warming sensation in his chest and cheeks. “Mm, that’ll put some hair on your chest, hm?”

Milo laughed. “Aye, then maybe I should stay away from it.”

Piers’ smile widened as he fiddled with his glass. “You’re bein’ too kind, you know?”

Milo shrugged as he turned to lift the lid on the pot. “It’s in my nature.”

Piers poured himself another shot as Milo stirred the contents. He hissed against the second surge of burning and leaned further into his seat to splay out his legs. “Seriously, Milo. I dunno what to say.”

Milo replaced the top and pivoted on his heel to join him at the table. “Donnae have tae say anything, lad. You were lookin’ like death when I found you; so, whatever blessin’ brought you those lambs, I want tae continue it.” He paused briefly to take his own shot, and Piers watched him amusedly as he coughed against the burn. When he caught his breath, Milo continued. “Tell me tae can it if ya don’t wanna talk, but what were you doin’? No offense, but you donnae strike me as the rugged type.”

Piers looked down at the table. He would feel wrong to lie to Milo, especially after all his kindness, but he believed the outright truth would be too outlandish for him. Piers would be daft to think Milo was not educated in mating, but his knowledge was with livestock. Not on lustful hunts. Piers looked up, and a blush crept across his cheeks when he noticed Milo staring. He had paused for too long. “Well, you aren’t wrong, mate.”

He mentally winced. The innocent word was tainted on his tongue, and he couldn’t stop his gaze from travelling back down. Milo spared him for a few minutes before shifting in his chair. “Canny force it from ye, lad. Merely curious because you seem tae be traveling quite light for someone trekkin’ through the deidlands.”

Piers laced his fingers and placed his hands in his lap. Slowly, he lifted his gaze once more. “Jus’ goin’ through somethin’. I dunno how to explain it without you findin’ me mad.”

Milo searched his face quietly and then shrugged. A ghost of a cheeky smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “We are all a wee mad in one way or another. Whatever yer goin’ through, you can work it out here. Bed’s free if ya donnae mind helpin’ me around tae farm. S’posed to snow for a few days. So, it’ll be a lot warmer.”

Piers rubbed his thumb over the other one, pondering the option. Surely Raihan would respect boundaries of other’s homes, but that thought flew away as quickly as it came. He remembered the selfie taken in his room, and his blush deepened.

And what was to say the dragon wouldn’t whisk him away or drive him out past the boundaries of the farm? All of these images were beginning to sound predatory, and well, in retrospect, they were. Granted, he was being hunted, and Raihan wouldn’t lose on basic pretenses. He’d find a way, smoking the proverbial nickit hole.

He sighed. “I appreciate the offer, but I have to decline.”

Milo’s face softened. “Aye. Well, I wish ya the best. I hope you decided tae stay for dinner, though. Nessa is comin’ too.”

Piers nodded stiffly, and Milo took his stand, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. The rest of the afternoon drifted slowly, and when the sun streaked red across the sky, Milo left to round up and board his livestock, leaving Piers to wallow in the house alone.

To keep himself from overthinking, he moved between the rooms. He had never been inside Milo’s home before, and it was like stepping into another era. An old, soot-soaked hearth held up most of the back wall of the sitting room, and two wooden rocking chairs framed its stone face. A half-stitched quilt laid across the back of one of the chairs, and Piers motioned closer to run a delicate finger across the fabric. Various patches were neatly placed in an accompany basket, and one cloth depicting a golden hunter on a backsplash of forest green caught his eye. He grimaced and turned toward a shelf on the adjacent wall.

Rows of family heirlooms laid haphazardly on the shelves as if Milo had no real theme to it. There was a chipped, hand-painted tea set that must have held meaning to the farmer next to crumbling, iron tools. A gold chain with an open-faced locket and no pictures hung from a fake willow tree, and in each corner held a framed photograph. Some pictures were barely visible due to age. Blotchy, sepia-tinged faces of Milo’s ancestors stared at him with empty eyes and blank faces, and Piers curiously picked up one of a bonnet-wearing child on a rocking rapidash.

“Fascinating, innit?”

Piers jerked and replaced the frame. He turned around, smiling sheepishly, and Nessa stepped closer to examine the picture he was holding. “Didn’t hear you comin’, but yeah, I guess.”

Nessa picked up the frame, face unreadable. “You should ask him about some of this stuff. He could go on and on until you feel like you’re in a lecture.”

“Didn’t take him for a history buff.”

“There’s a lot of things about him that you’d be surprised about.” Nessa looked up at him then, blue eyes sparkling, and Piers floundered. He had seen that expression before, and it was becoming apparent she wasn’t here for casual conversation. The two stared at each other for a moment before Nessa replaced the picture and took his hand. She lead him to the couch and sat down next to him. “Milo told me he found you out gallivanting in the woods.”

“I wasn’t _gallivantin’_.”

“Well, whatever you were doing, you were just out in the woods.” She paused briefly. “Is everything okay, Piers? Doesn’t seem like you to be roughing it outdoors, especially in this kind of weather.”

Piers rolled his eyes, and he slumped back into the cushions. Did everyone think he was incapable? He laced his fingers on the top of his head. “Whatsit matter what I do?”

Nessa shifted in her seat to lean against the cushions, propping her head up with her fist. “No need to get defensive, dear. He’s just worried about you, and now, so am I. He says you don’t even have camping gear.”

Piers focused his gaze on her, brow furrowing. “How does he know that?”

“Don’t get mad at him, but he went rummaging through your bag to see if you had any other clothes to wash. Said to me you barely even had food on you.” Piers pursed his lips, and when Nessa realized he had nothing to respond with, she continued. “He tells me everything.”

“Clearly.”

“Piers, please. We are just worried. You aren’t the first person this week that he found out there.”

Piers’ expression unknotted, and he pushed from the back of the couch. He leaned closer to Nessa, eyes searching, and Nessa mirrored his movements. Her eyes sparkled again, and Piers knew that she knew something. When Piers spoke, it was barely above a whisper, “Who?”

“Leon.”

Piers scoffed. “Leon?”

“Yes, Leon. Him, I understand, but you…It’s weird. You and him, and now Raihan is nowhere to be found.”

Piers gritted his teeth. Her expression was the same he had seen on Marnie’s when she wanted him to confess to something, and Piers grimaced when he saw the edges of Nessa’s lips tilt up. He huffed again and turned away. “Yeah. Weird.”

She followed him, never staying out of his peripherals, and Piers silently cursed. He knew better than to think that she would give up so easily. The two sat in awkward silence until Piers flopped back into the cushions with a defeated groan. He shielded his eyes with the crook of his elbow. “What do you know?”

Nessa chuckled. “More than you care to admit.”

“Fuck. And I assume you aren’t the only one?”

Nessa gently pulled his arm away from his face and clutched his hand in hers. “Not sure about outside the league, but from what I am aware of, Rose. Maybe Oleana if he said something to her.”

Piers sighed again. “And now Marnie, too.”

“Understandably so.”

Piers rolled his eyes. Rose knowing about Raihan’s endeavor should have been obvious. As chairman, he would’ve kept records so as not to put the dragon in an awkward position, and now, with Leon in the rank…

_Leon_. What was he doing in the deidlands? Simplistically, he could have believed the plum-haired man was just lost, but it seemed fishy that he was lost in the same place as him and Raihan. Piers knew that the two shagged.

His heart clenched.

If the two had past history, Piers would be stupid to think that Leon didn’t share Raihan’s mating season, or whatever, with him, and an icy surge coursed through his veins. Piers had no proof of it, of course, but he wallowed on the idea that Leon had been put in the same position as him. Even more so, if Leon was in the same place at the same time, wouldn’t that constitute Raihan chasing the both of them at the same time.

He sunk lower in his seat, pulling his hand out of Nessa’s to hide his face under the hood of his jacket. Nessa reached to reveal his face, but he slapped her hand away. “How do you two know?”

“I only know because of Milo. Milo knows because he caught the pair of them in his old silo two years ago. Raihan told him everything.”

Piers groaned loudly, and Nessa continued with a softer tone. “He’s finally going after you, huh?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Nessa laughed loudly and snatched the hood off his head. “Don’t tell me you are that oblivious.”

Piers glowered. “I need a drink.”

Unable to control her laughter, Nessa pushed herself off the couch and patted his head. She left for a brief moment before returning with the bottle of whiskey. She placed the bottle in his hands. “Have yourself one, dear. Milo won’t care if we finish it off. He doesn’t like liquor all that much.”

“So he said,” Piers said curtly. He unscrewed the cap and flicked it off. The cap clattered against the wood floor, and he put the bottle to his lips, taking a heavy gulp. “Does Raihan just tell everyone his business?”

“It’s Raihan, love.” Nessa grabbed the bottle and took a sip.

Piers nodded in response and sighed. “So, here I am again, out of the loop.”

Nessa quipped a brow. Piers snatched the bottle back and swallowed another shot responding. “Marnie told me somethin’ similar. You think that if he fancied me, or whatever, he wouldn’t make such a game out of it.”

  
“Not to repeat myself, but it’s Raihan.”

Piers let out a breathy, curt laugh and lifted the bottle to his lips. But he pushed it back into Nessa’s arms and flopped on his side, curling his knees to his chest. He heard Nessa set the whiskey on the coffee table, and she slipped to the floor, face inches from his. Her expression was caring, yet solemn, and she brushed her fingers through his hair. “You didn’t do a very good job at getting the knots out.”

Piers made a noncommittal noise and closed his eyes. Nessa continued to work her fingers through the strands, gentling tugging when she reached snags. She hummed as she did so, and Piers focused on her mellowing tune. After a moment, he opened his eyes once again to see her playing on her phone as she continued to stroke his head. Biting his lip, he curled into himself tighter. “Nes.”

“Hm?”

“I’m afraid to ask, but what has he said about me?”

Nessa looked up from her phone with a cheeky smirk. “Maybe you should ask him.” Piers rolled his eyes and turned over. Nessa laughed and patted his shoulder. “I’m going to check on dinner.”

Piers flipped the hood over his head again and melted into the couch. His thoughts raced, trapping him in a vortex of uncertainty. Was everyone else in on what Raihan was doing? He felt like a child being placed at a different table while the grown-ups wine and dined together. He heard Milo enter his home, wish him a hello, but he pretended to be asleep.

He tried to focus on the murmuring from the kitchen, hoping to pick up anything that might pull him from his thoughts, but when he heard the unmistakable sound of kissing and cooing words, he shut down again. He pouted until Nessa retrieved him for dinner.

He followed her into the kitchen, only to stop at the threshold when he saw multiple items scattered across the floor near the table. He eyed them suspiciously as he took his seat, and Nessa handed a bowl. He stared at the swirling contents.

“There’s no meat. I know you are a veggie eater,” Milo said and graciously took his own. “Jus’ an ole potato stew recipe.”

Piers nodded, softly thanked him, and kept his eyes on his food as he slowly ate. The spice and heartiness wiggled all the way to his toes, and though he tried to keep proper, he wasn’t able to stop himself from shoveling down his food. He stood to help himself to seconds, but Nessa waved him away. She grabbed his bowl and brought him more. “You look like you’re getting some color back, dear.”

Piers shrugged and ate his second helping, slower this time. “So, what’s with all the rubbish on the floor?”

“Things for you,” Milo replied, and Piers glared at him. “Ha! Donnae give me tha’ look. I assumed ya weren’t stayin’ the night, yeah?”

Piers shook his head. Milo smiled and continued. “Jus’ a bit of heartier food and campin’ gear. Ain’t nothin’ special.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Oh, come off it, Piers,” Nessa retorted. “Trust me. You’ll want it.”

Piers set down his spoon and put his face in his hands. “Since you two are both so aware of what’s happenin’, how are you gonna feel if I have to leave it behind?”

Milo and Nessa were quiet for a moment, and when the silence broke, it was Milo who spoke. “All replaceable items. Would rather know you ain’t dyin’ out there. And it’s no’ like you canny give me the location, and I can go and grab it. Now finish yer meal and stop yer bellyachin’.”

Piers gritted his teeth and emerged from his palms. He kept his gaze on the table as he finished his meal. The rest of dinner was silent, and when the other two were finished, he took their bowls and started washing the dishes, allowing Nessa to reorganize his bag with his new, borrowed items.

When he was done rinsing out the sink and placing the stew pot on the drying rack, Milo approached him and placed something heavy in his hands. Piers looked down to see a giant knife, and he froze. Milo placed his hand on his shoulder, bringing him back to earth. “It was my great-great granddad’s. Hopefully it will help ya.”

“Milo, I can’t take this.”

Milo scoffed and waved his hand, ending the matter. He joined Nessa on the floor, and the two of them fussed over his pack. Milo glanced up at him when the camping gear was clipped tight to the front where his sleeping bag usually went. “Yer more than welcome tae take those clothes too.”

“Milo…”

“I won’t hear it. Whatever ya have left, just bring back, okay?”

Piers’ bottom lip trembled, and he pocketed the knife. He held back tears as he watched the two stand and accompany him. Milo slipped Piers’ arms through the straps of his pack, while Nessa placed the morpeko cap on his head. She cupped his face in her hands. “You’ll do fine, Piers. We believe in you.”

Piers nodded. “Thank you. Both of you.” He hugged her, then Milo, and left without another word.

* * *

As the sun set, Piers was able to see the hunched hills of the mines, but not wanting risk walking in the dark, he curbed off the path to settle in a small glen. It appeared as if others had used this area before when he spotted an old fire pit, and considering it a rather lucky find, he began to pitch his tent.

He struggled a bit to get it up properly, but after a few tries, he was able to keep it sturdy. He grinned, gracious that Milo was so willing to help him. Leif had shown him the weather report earlier, and he knew that even with the tent, he was going to be in for a rough night. The sun burned across the sky, painting the clouds in fiery red and orange, and while he would have liked to watch it, he needed to get a fire started.

He reset the ring of rocks around the fire pit and pulled at the growing grasses inside. He scoured the surrounding area for sticks and leaves, and once he had a healthy pile, he dug in his pack for Milo’s flint rock. He started his fire as the sun dipped past the horizon, and he relished in the warmth, wiping the sweat from his brow.

He checked his phone, nervously logging into social media to see anything new. Nothing seemed to strike him as out of the ordinary, and Raihan had still yet to post any new selfies, much to his chagrin. He wished there was something he could base Raihan’s location off of, even if it was just a measly bush. Curiously, he checked Leon’s page, but he too had not posted anything new. He chewed his bottom lip and released Lief.

Intently, he pulled the old knife from his bag. He popped the button on the leather strap and unsheathed the knife. The bone handle was worn down smooth. Many years of use had molded it to fit broad hands, and his fingers were small and frail against the worn in grooves. The tip of the blade came to a cuspated curve, and his eyes trailed the serrated edges near the handle guard. Despite the wickedness of the blade and its assisting attributes, Piers did not feel any safer.

Though, at least it was tactical.

He moved his focus onward. In the firelight, he could see the age in the bone. Divots of dark rivers cut through sections of what was once stark white, and the handle looked ancient compared to the dulling steel edge. He had been half listening to Milo’s authenticity of his family heirloom, but Piers had seen similar ancient carvings in the handle, a signature (if you will) by an old Galarian smithman. The age could be traced much further back than the farmer’s great-great-grandfather, and the blade had obviously been replaced sometime before the 19th century.

All these examinations were based on what he had seen in the display cases at the Hammerlocke historical museums, and he briefly thought of Raihan. If Milo hadn’t already shown the knife off to the history nerd, Raihan would be itching to date it chronologically. At least he’d have an actual use for it then, and he smirked at the idea of tossing it away to have Raihan chase after it like a boltund.

Piers twisted it in his hand, testing the weight, and his movements felt overwhelmingly dangerous. How many vines had it hacked or skins it flayed? Has it seen battle and drawn blood? He exhaled sharply and sheathed it, hoping that he would never need to whip it out.

Wishful thinking, of course. While he would never use it against Raihan physically, he could at least fake his aggression if necessary. He strapped the sheath to one of his belt loops, silently thanking Milo, and hid it behind his overcoat.

Pitch befell the glen. Even with the sliver of light from the moon and fire, Piers appeared to be trapped in a void, and the uncomfortable darkness tensed his nerves. While he wanted to hide in the safety of the tent, he was not ready to leave the warmth of his fire, and he reached for Obstagoon’s ball.

Somewhere, something called to him.

His eyes shot into the dark, squinting for any signs of life. Again, the same noise: husky and low and suspiciously sounding like his name. He held his breath and reached for the knife as a figure emerged from the tree line.


End file.
